Alternative Folklore
by Wandergirl108
Summary: An alternative version of the story, in which Herve was the one who survived and Cecelia was the one who died. It's not perfect, but I've done my best! Some parts are identical to the original, but THIS IS NOT PLAGIARISM! Please review!
1. Intro

Intro

~Keats~

_I've spent so long on my own. My sister, Suzette, is the only person I've really had in my life, and her just barely. We just don't see eye-to-eye on things; at times, I wonder if she's really even my sister. She's had her life, and I've had mine, and I guess that must be why we're different. When I was old enough to get out of the orphanage I took her with me and worked hard to keep both of us going until she grew up, too. I guess all the work, and being alone, made it hard for me to get much practice getting along with others. When it comes right down to it, I guess I prefer to be alone…and, I guess, my sister didn't have that experience, and that's why she's so different from me. Not that she's a party girl, but she's better with people than me…_

_We believed our parents were both dead; I _know_ our mother died giving birth to my sister. Mother never talked about my father while she was alive, so I don't really know what happened to him. I have no memories of him at all…in fact, I don't remember anything of my childhood…_

_But now, I've gotten a letter from my father, saying he's alive! How can that be? Why did he send a letter to me, but not Suzette? And why did he wait so long? I'm not sure if I believe it's really him…but I have to know!_

~o~

Keats and Suzette sat on the tiny boat. It was night, and a storm was raging, and the captain had warned them that he wouldn't be able to take them all the way there. Keats had insisted that it was fine, and Suzette had gone along, knowing there was no point in arguing with her brother about this; he'd been practically obsessed ever since he'd read that letter…

Suzette's eyes were focused on the cape, which was just visible through the rain and darkness, but Keats was staring at the letter, his expression ponderous.

Suzette glanced over at her brother.

"You must have that thing memorized by now," she commented.

Keats sighed, not looking up. "I wish I could remember something about him," he said. "Then maybe I'd have a better idea of whether or not he's really the one who wrote this…"

Suzette laughed. "Come on, Keats, who else could it be? Why would anyone write a fake letter to lure someone to a tiny village in the middle of nowhere? And to be honest, you don't really know anyone, so no one would have a reason to target you for anything anyway," she pointed out matter-of-factly.

He sighed, then finally looked up at her. "You're right," he conceded. "I just think it's odd that he'd contact me, but not you…"

Suzette shrugged. "You knew him once; I didn't. You're probably the only one in our family that he'd feel close enough to to contact, since mum died."

Keats nodded but didn't say anything more.

"I still want to meet him, though," she finally added. "I won't regret coming, no matter what happens."

Keats nodded silently again, his gaze drifting back down to the letter.

"It's no use!" The captain's shout drew both of their attentions.

Keats stood up, maintaining a wide stance so he could keep his balance; the ship was rocking and pitching with the waves the storm made.

"What do you mean?" he called back.

"I told you; this is as far as I go!" the captain called in reply.

"Oh, come on, just a bit closer to the shore!" Keats urged.

The captain shook his head. "It'll be the death of all of us."

Keats stood there for a moment, glanced down at the letter he held, then looked back at the captain and said softly, "Thank you for helping me. I'll take it from here."

"Sir? Wait!" the captain called as Keats took off his glasses and pocketed them, then turned and ran off the front of the boat.

"No!" he cried as Keats hit the water.

Suzette stood, hurrying to the edge of the boat to see if she could see her brother. It was hard to tell, but she didn't think she could see him…

She took a breath, then made up her mind.

"Miss! Wait! What are you doing?" the captain called to her as she put one foot on the edge of the boat, ready to vault overboard.

She paused and looked back. "I have to go after him. If he makes it, he needs me to make sure he doesn't do anything else stupid."

Without waiting for a reply, she jumped after her brother and plunged into the turbulent water.

~Ellen~

_It's not easy, being a painter in the modern world. People don't appreciate any style of hand-made art very much these days. Still, there are enough romantics left who want portraits of themselves or loved ones done, or who will come in and take a look at my other paintings and like them enough to buy, for me to pay the bills. Really, though, the only payment that matters to me is the joy of painting something beautiful. My life may not be luxurious one, but I'm happy, and that's what counts._

_I don't get out much, but that's fine with me. Inspiration can strike at any time, and I prefer to be around my paints, brushes, and canvasses when it does, so I spent most of my time at home. I set up my tiny shop in my house, and the local diner delivers, so I have everything I need right here, really…_

~o~

Ellen was painting a picture of the sun rising over the ocean, looking as though it was revealing a path that led into the sea, when the phone rang.

She sighed, set down her brush, stood up, and walked over to the phone. She really hated it when someone called her to ask her to do a portrait while she was in the middle of her work, but a paying customer was a paying customer, and she always needed money.

She picked up the phone. "Hello?" she asked.

"Please, I need your help!" A man's voice, sounding out of breath, spoke urgently.

"Wh-?"

"Please, help me!" he repeated. "These faeries are going to kill me!"

With a jolt, Ellen realized the man was panting with fear, not exhaustion, which momentarily surprised her out of responding.

"Please, hurry!" the man practically begged. "Doolin Village - the Cliff of Sidhe - please come, quickly!"

"Sir, you-!"

The man hung up.

"…have the wrong number," Ellen finished into the dead phone. She sighed and hung up the phone.

She went back to her painting and sat down, but she couldn't bring herself to pick up her brush again. _Whoever that was, he must have been so frantic that he dialed the wrong number,_ she thought. _There's no way that call was for me…_

_…But whoever he was trying to reach doesn't know he's in trouble, now. Then again…what was that about faeries? Perhaps he's mad, whoever he is._

She sighed. _Whoever he is, he might be in real trouble, and the only one who knows about it is me, which means I should go,_ she decided._ I may not be the one he was trying to reach, but if he needs help, it would be wrong of me to ignore it, even if he is mad…_

_Doolin Village…I'll find out where that is and go right away._

~Keats & Ellen~

"That was a blasted fool thing to do," Suzette snapped at her older brother.

"I'm sorry, but I had to," Keats replied. "It was the only way."

The two of them were soaking wet. The storm had passed, and the sun had risen, by the time they had gotten to shore, but it was almost winter, and therefore very cold out, which didn't help either of them.

"Look, I want to meet Father, too," Suzette panted as they reached the top of the hill by the shore, "but I wouldn't jump into the ocean, _in November_, _at night_, _in the middle of a storm_, just to meet him one day sooner than I would have if I had just waited until the next day!"

Keats didn't reply. He had stopped walking, and his eyes were fixed on something on the cliff.

Suzette turned, following her brother's gaze. For a moment, she thought he was staring at the archway that stood on the edge of the cliff. Then, she saw the figure sitting under it. The person had a cloth draped over his or her shoulders, so it was almost impossible to distinguish anything about him or her at all. A few crows were poking around the person, but neither Keats nor Suzette thought anything of it just then.

Suzette took a step forward. "Is that you, Father?" she asked.

The person gave no indication that he or she was aware of the two siblings' presence.

"Father, if that's you…it's me," said Keats. "Your son. You asked me here. I brought my sister. She wanted to meet you, too."

Still no response.

"Why won't you answer us?" asked Suzette.

"Excuse me."

Keats and Suzette turned to see a young woman with long blond hair tied in a braid walking towards them.

"Are you the one who called for help?" Ellen asked, addressing Keats.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Hmm…guess not," Ellen said, almost to herself. She gestured at the figure seated on the cliff. "What about the person over there? No, wait," she said, answering her own question, "it can't be that person; that's a woman."

"A woman?" Suzette exclaimed, turning back.

Keats squinted at the seated figure through his glasses. "Huh," he said, "so it is. That's odd."

"Well, it certainly can't be Father," Suzette commented. "Still, maybe she knows where he is."

Suddenly, the woman swayed, then fell on her side, and suddenly, the presence of the crows made sense.

She was dead.

Ellen gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. Suzette took another step forward, but Keats caught her arm.

"No, don't touch, she's dead!" he told her. "We need to call the police."

A sudden gust of wind caught the cloth draped over the woman and blew it into the air as she slid off the cliff.

Suzette broke free of her brother's grasp and ran to the edge of the cliff. Keats and Ellen ran up beside her.

They all looked over the edge. None of them could see the woman.

Suzette turned and ran back the way she and Keats had come, with Ellen close behind her. Keats stayed at the cliff's edge for a minute longer, thinking about what he'd found out about Doolin Village before coming.

"A murder in the village of the dead," he muttered to himself. "Tell me this is a joke."


	2. K Prologue

Prologue (Keats)

Keats took one last look over the edge of the cliff, then turned around. He hesitated a minute, thinking.

_I think my sister went back to the beach where we swam up, he thought. That girl went with her._

_But who was the woman who died? And where's Father?_

Pondering his questions, he followed the path back down to the beach. Sure enough, Suzette and the other girl were there.

"Find anything?" he asked them.

"No," replied Suzette, turning to him. "I think this beach is too far away from the cliff for that woman to wash up here."

He nodded in agreement.

The other girl had stopped looking around. She stood completely still a few feet away from Suzette, her back turned to both of them.

Suzette turned around to face the other girl. "Excuse me," she said.

The girl turned her head to look at Suzette. "Yes?" she asked.

"Is there somewhere in the village where we could stay?" Suzette asked her.

"Hm? Oh! I'm sorry, I wouldn't know. I'm not from here," she replied, turning to face them fully.

"This seems like an odd place for a holiday," Keats commented.

"I'm not on holiday," she said. "Someone telephoned me by accident, asking for help. He said to come to the Cliff of Sidhe in Doolin Village right away."

"By accident?" Keats asked, curious.

She nodded. "Yes. I think he must have dialed the wrong number by mistake; I have no idea who he was. He sounded scared, so I'm guessing he was so frantic he misdialed."

"Someone asked you for help, and told you to come to the Cliff of Sidhe," Keats mused. "When you got here, a woman was dead on the edge of the cliff."

She nodded again. "It certainly makes him more believable."

"Why wouldn't he be believable?" Suzette asked curiously.

"He said something about Faerys," replied the girl.

_Faerys?_ thought Keats. _That's absurd…but it _is_ true that the dead woman's body being here, where she was told to come, lends credence to the idea that there is _something_ to fear here._

"I'd like to know who called you," he said.

The girl nodded again. "Me too. Very much. I know he didn't mean to ask _me_ for help, but if he needs help, I want to do what I can."

_What a sweet girl…_ Keats thought wistfully.

"Well, maybe someone in the village knows who it was," said Suzette. "At the very least, maybe they'll know who that woman was."_ …and where Father is._ Suzette didn't have to say the unspoken words that were on both her and Keats's minds.

The girl stepped towards them and held out her hand. "I'm Ellen," she said.

"Keats," Keats said, shaking her hand.

"Suzette," Suzette said when it was her turn.

"Nice to meet you," Ellen said.

"You too," replied Suzette, "even if it is under questionable circumstances."

With pleasantries having been exchanged, Keats said, "Let's go to the village and ask around. Maybe we'll all find what we're looking for."

"What are you looking for?" Ellen asked Keats as they followed the path up to the village.

"We're looking for our father," Suzette answered for Keats. "He sent my brother a letter asking him to come here, and I decided to come, too."

"Huh…" said Ellen ponderously.

~o~

When they got to the village, Keats, Suzette, and Ellen all hesitated; what were they supposed to do, knock on doors?

Luckily, the village was a small, close-knit community, and no one even locked their doors. The villagers were surprisingly friendly, though they were startled by the news that a woman had died on the cliff.

It was discovered that the only person in the village who was nowhere to be found was a woman named Ingrid. From what Keats could make out based on what the villagers said, Ingrid travelled a lot, but she had only just come back, and it was unlike her to leave quite so soon…not to mention that she _never_ left without saying goodbye to at least one of them, which, in this case, she had not.

The villagers concluded that Ingrid was the woman who had died on the cliff. They didn't call the police, though, nor was there any suggestion from anyone to do anything about it, which Keats found rather odd. Still, he was too exhausted to think about it much, and as soon as the answer to that one question had been settled, he asked if there was a place the three of them could stay.

The villagers offered three places: a house that had been abandoned for years, an old warehouse that had been refurnished so as to be habitable (if only just), and a hut that had belonged to the dead woman, Ingrid. The house was larger than the hut, but not nearly large enough to accommodate all three of them.

Ellen was offered the dead woman's hut.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly!" she exclaimed when the offer was made. "I'll stay in the warehouse."

"That place is hardly even fit for a dog," Keats commented. "There's not even a bed; just an old couch."

"I'd rather sleep on an old couch than in the bed of a woman who just died," Ellen insisted.

Keats almost smiled. _She really _is_ a sweet girl,_ he thought. _Obviously, she doesn't know much about the real world…_ He chuckled internally. _Then again, I suppose the same could be said for me._

"Well, _I_ don't mind," he said; "there's no reason for the place to go unused. Suzette, you can have that house to yourself," he added to his sister.

Suzette smiled her thanks at him; he'd been taking care of her since she was eight, and he knew she appreciated having a space to herself.

So it was that when night fell, all three of the newcomers were staying in separate places.

~o~

Keats was exhausted, as he hadn't slept the previous night, and had instead swum through the ocean in a storm…but he couldn't sleep. Thoughts whirled around in his head, keeping him awake, as he tried to make sense of what had happened that day.

_Ellen said a man called for help,_ he thought. _Could Father have been the one who phoned her? And it seems like an odd coincidence that a letter came for me, and a call came for her, both telling us to come to the Cliff of Sidhe in Doolin Village, in time for us to find a dead woman when we got there…not to mention, in time for both of us to get there at the same time…but what does all of it have to do with my father? Ellen said she was only called here by mistake, so I suppose she has no connection to it, but still…if that _was_ Father, and if it _was_ a case of dialing the wrong number, then who _was_ he trying to reach? Suzette, maybe? And if it _wasn't_ a mistake, what does Ellen have to do with any of this? And why would Father send _me_ a letter, but _telephone_ someone else?_

None of it made any sense. He thought of the myth about how it was possible to communicate with the dead in Doolin Village. _I wish it were true,_ he found himself thinking, even though he normally dismissed such nonsense. _I wish I could ask that woman - Ingrid - some questions. At the very least, she could tell me who killed her…and maybe she knew more. Maybe she had some of the answers…_

"If it's answers you seek…come to the pub…"

Keats sat bolt upright in the borrowed bed, looking around for the source of the voice that had broken the nighttime silence.

Nothing.

_I must have been dreaming,_ he thought. _Either that, or I'm hallucinating…_

He laid back down.

"Are you coming?" Keats's head had barely hit the pillow when the voice spoke again.

Keats threw the sheet off him and leapt out of bed. "Who's there?" he asked out loud, his common sense momentarily displaced by fear.

"Come to the pub…"

"All right, all right," Keats muttered. He figured there was no harm in taking a look; he couldn't sleep anyway…

~o~

When Keats came within sight of the pub, he was surprised to see lights on inside. When he got there, he was even more surprised to find that the door was unlocked.

Then he opened the door, and those first two surprises seemed completely insignificant.

There were people in the pub…but not humans.

He looked around, stunned. There were five…people, or whatever, in total: there was a woman whose skin and hair were the same spectral shade of blue as her old-fashioned dress, who held a fan and had an umbrella that floated in the air next to her; a strange, pudgy person - Keats couldn't begin to guess the gender - with a hedgehog on its shoulder, wearing a bulging blue outfit and a blue witch's hat, and who carried a broom upside down; what appeared to be a large rat-like creature with oversized clothes and undersized glasses; a rather fleshy and pig-like creature with a blue snout, shaggy white fur on its back that covered its eyes, and large horns; and, standing behind the bar, there was a tall, relatively thin creature wearing glasses and a straw hat and holding a pipe to its mouth, whose one visible arm appeared to have a shirt sleeve on it, but it was hard to tell because the rest of its body was entirely covered in long, gray-brown fur. All of them, however - even the animalistic ones - stood on two legs and were wearing human clothes…and, eerily, they all seemed to exude a strange blue light.

"Oh, another visitor!" said the ghostly blue woman.

"Who is it this time?" asked the pudgy witch, sounding female enough to distinguish her gender.

"A gentleman," the blue woman replied.

The pudgy witch turned to Keats. "Well, I'm amazed you made it here," she said.

"You've come to meet the dead?" the blue woman asked him. "How nice of you!"

"You speak lucidly for figments of the imagination," Keats commented. "Nice special effects, too."

"Nya ha!" laughed the large rat. "No, this is all real! We're here to help you determine your recourse."

"Boo hoo…" the blue woman said, sounding more sympathetic than mocking. "You lost your father, did you? But…Do not despair. We can help."

"Help?" Keats asked, skeptical. "How are _you_ supposed to help me find my father?"

"Go to the Netherworld and seek the dead," the blue woman instructed him. "Your guide awaits you beyond the door."

Keats blinked. _The Netherworld? My guide? This is some dream…_

He thought for a moment. _Well, if this _is_ a dream, I might as well see what these creatures my subconscious conjured up have to say,_ he thought.

He started with the large rat-like creature, who introduced himself as Fir Darrig. "On top of that hill in the village is a Henge that was created by the ancients," Fir Darrig told him. "Somehow, once each year, on Samhain night, the path that goes beneath the Henge opens up. By the human calendar, that occurs on November 2nd. Today."

Keats moved on to the pig-like creature. "Oh, hello. M-My name is Jimmy Squarefoot," the pig introduced himself; he spoke with a slight, nervous stammer. "D-Don't believe you can meet the dead, d-do you?" he asked. "Well, just have a look outside. You w-won't believe what's g-goin' on out there!"

Keats then approached the tall creature behind the bar. "My name is Ganconer," the creature introduced himself. "Think of me as the barman of the pub at night. We're open every night, but can't seem to attract many people. Living ones, at least." He chuckled. "And so yer after a passed soul, are ye?" he went on. "Well then the Netherworld is the place!"

When Keats walked up to the blue woman, she giggled. "Hee hee! Not exactly a cool one, are you now?" she asked, smiling. "My name is Frizzie, Cryer for the Dead." She sighed, her smile fading. "Such a sad thing…" she murmured. "Someone else from the village has died…what shall come of this?"

Last came the fat witch, who introduced herself as Damona. "Belgae the Invisible is waiting for you!" she told Keats. "It must be some kind of plot to lure you into the Netherworld!"

Having spoken with all of the…creatures, whatever, he didn't know what to call them, he left the pub, feeling even more perplexed than he had when he'd come in; it seemed he hadn't found any _answers_ at the pub - only more questions.

Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind him…the same one he'd heard before.

"Good evening."

Keats spun around, and saw what appeared to be a set of very fancy old fashioned clothes and top hat, a cane, and a white mask, all floating as though there was a person wearing or holding them…but there wasn't. At least, not _visibly_, there wasn't.

"You're the one who told me to come here," he said to the floating clothes. It wasn't a question.

"My apologies," the spirit said by way of admission. "But do oblige me by following my lead."

"Well, you're certainly gentle as spirits go," Keats mused. "But that getup! Going to a fancy dress?"

"Even Invisible Men need to express themselves," the spirit replied calmly, apparently unoffended. Then it asked, "Was the afternoon mystery solved?"

"No," Keats replied, "and I'm without a clue."

"May I suggest an interview with the deceased?" the spirit said. "I am Belgae, and I can instruct you on making contact."

"What are you going to do, hold a seance or something?" Keats asked sarcastically. "Sorry, but I don't believe in that rubbish."

Belgae chuckled. "Ah, but I sense that you _are_ a man of deep curiosity," he said. "Accompany me to the South Henge, where we shall try an experiment. You should be most pleased by the results."

Having nothing better to do, Keats complied. _After all,_ he reasoned, _it's only a dream…_

~o~

When Keats reached the Henge, Belgae was somehow already there, though Keats was sure he'd left Belgae behind. Belgae was standing beside what appeared to be an entrance to the space beneath the Henge. There was no door or covering over it, though there was a strange wall of green light.

Keats approached Belgae and the opening.

"We've been expecting you," Belgae said. "This way, please."

"The oval Henge," Keats mused. "A mysterious megalith monument created by the ancients." He shook his head. "What does all this have to do with meeting the dead?" he asked.

"I've no time to explain now, Sir," Belgae replied. "We must catch up with her…"

"Her? Who?" Keats asked, though he had a feeling he knew who Belgae was talking about.

Instead of replying, Belgae silently turned and disappeared inside the Henge. Resignedly, Keats followed him.

He found himself in a huge underground stone corridor, lit by a greenish light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. At the end, there was a small half-circle of a room, cut off by an enormous stone door with glyphs carved on it that he could make nothing of; though the fact was, the door was so massive, he felt like the word 'door' didn't really do it justice. Belgae waited at the 'door'.

Keats approached him. As he neared the 'door', he heard voices coming from the other side.

"There's someone down there," he said to Belgae. "I can hear them talking."

"It's the girl from the cliff, Sir," Belgae told him.

"You mean Ellen?" Keats asked. "She believes the legend that you can meet the dead?"

"Those legends are not just the delusions of the ancients," Belgae stated. "They are truths that they have bequeathed to us. Tonight, if the Cloak _does_ accept her, then that girl, Ellen, becomes the long awaited Messenger between the real world and the Netherworld."

"The Netherworld…You mean the Land of the Dead?" Keats asked skeptically. "Well, if she wants to try it, it's certainly not my place to stop her…So tell me, Invisible Gentleman: why am_ I_ here?"

"What if you too could acquire that power…?" Belgae asked in reply.

"All I want is to find my father," Keats stated.

"One cannot survive in the Netherworld without gaining a certain power," Belgae told him.

"Hmph," Keats said. "Yeah, to find my father I'll do whatever it takes."

"If she can, Ellen will obtain a Cloak in order to pass through to the Netherworld," Belgae explained. "All you need to do is be near her when she does. When a new Messenger is chosen, Guardians are also chosen. That is certain to be you." And with that, Belgae opened the 'door', revealing what was happening on the other side.

Keats's first impression was of green light. In the dark rock that formed an enormous room that justified the size of the door, gaps revealed a glowing green material.

"Well, this is interesting," he muttered aloud.

Then, he noticed Ellen. He watched as she started to glow and what appeared to be a shroud swirled around her.

"So it _is_ possible," Keats heard Belgae mutter, more to himself than to Keats. "Fascinating. Perhaps he _does_ know what he's doing…"

"What's happening to her?" Keats asked Belgae.

"By absorbing the power of the cloak of Sidhe, she has become a traveller of the Netherworld," Belgae answered. Then he added, "You also have that power."

"Heh…the Land of the Dead?" Keats asked sarcastically. "Sorry, not interested. I prefer…well, something more substantial." He paused, then added, "In fact, I'm amazed I can even see you-"

Suddenly, his words were cut off as a strange light rushed towards him from inside the chamber. When it reached him, metal panels, each topped with an insignia that appeared to be an eye, shot up from the floor, one at a time, around him, until they formed a circle. Keats didn't have even a second to think before light exploded upwards inside the circle. His arms were forced into the air as he felt the energy rushing through is body, and his coat was completely blown off of him. The energy flowing through him started to burn white hot, and as he doubled over in pain, causing his glasses to clatter to the floor, his shirt, vest, and tie glowed and disappeared. He began groaning in agony; the burning sensation had become coupled with a sensation of extreme, painful internal pressure, as though he was literally going to explode. At first, his skin seemed like it was about to do just that - he felt it stretch - but in fact, his muscles were bulging, growing, far faster than human muscles were meant to grow…the pain was almost unbearable…

With a final, blinding flash, the transformation completed, and both the burning and the pressure ceased.

Keats felt himself kneeling on the floor. His coat, which had turned purple, fluttered back down onto him and draped over his shoulders. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stood.

Power rippled around him, surrounding him with an impossible mini-tornado that blew for him alone. His skin had turned blue-gray, his hair had turned white, dark blue designs had appeared on his left shoulder and the left side of his face, and, though he couldn't see it, his eyes glowed with a bright purple light. His upper body was bare, save for his coat and a strange silver medallion that hung around his neck.

He noticed his glasses on the floor, and bent down to pick them up. As he started to put them back on, he felt a reverse, equally-painful feeling of pressure on the outside of his body. His muscles shrank back down to their normal size, and the transformation reversed.

"Amazing," he panted, gasping for breath; "even the pain feels real! This is certainly a lucid dream!"

"As you wished, you have attained the powers of a Netherworld traveller," Belgae said calmly. "Now go, and take her from this place…lest she bring disaster to the Netherworld."

"But…what powers could she possibly have to cause disaster there?" Keats asked, still panting.

"The path to the Netherworld lies beyond here," Belgae went on, ignoring Keats's question. "Go, and see for yourself. But do hurry; the longer you wait, the less likely it will be that you'll get there ahead of her."

"How can I get there ahead of her if she's already gone?" asked Keats.

"Time does not work the same way in the Netherworld as it does here," Belgae replied. "Now go - if Ellen finds that deceased woman before you do, you may not be able to obtain the answers to your questions."

_Naturally,_ Keats thought. Still, he followed Belgae's directions and went to the other end of the room.

He noticed that when he stepped on the glowing green patterns on the floor, a sound like a musical note was made. He went up one of the two sets of stairs on either side of the room to get to the very back, which was raised. When he finally reached the very back of the room, he found a large design that looked like it was made of enormous globs of oil, and which vaguely resembled a butterfly, floating there.

_This must be the portal,_ he mused. _Quite unrealistic. The very least my subconscious could have done is make it look like a door…_

For a moment, he wondered how he was supposed to go through it. Then, deciding that either it would work or it wouldn't, he simply stepped into it.

There was a blinding flash of light, and when it faded, Keats found himself in a lush, beautiful forest, full of brilliant colors and floating lights, that looked like a magical forest out of a children's book.

Belgae, again, was already there.

"What's this…?" Keats asked him.

"This is the Faery Realm," Belgae replied simply.

"I know this can't be a dream, because I don't have this good of an imagination," Keats muttered, mostly to himself.

"This is an afterworld imagined by the ancients," Belgae told him. "It's just one of many realms. You are quite fortunate; you managed to get here before Ellen."

"I never thought that I'd find myself chatting to the dead," Keats said, again more to himself than to Belgae.

"Please, hurry," Belgae urged him. "The door will remain open for this night only."

"What happens then?" Keats asked.

"You will be forcibly returned to your own world," Belgae replied. "Oh, and be careful of Folks."

"Forks?" Keats asked, intending it as a joke.

"_Folks_," Belgae corrected, unamused. "They were once human souls, but are…aggressive now."

When Belgae didn't offer any more of an explanation, Keats walked passed him and along the path that led further into the forest. He didn't go far before he met a small person with gray skin and pointed ears.

"Hello, and welcome!" he said to Keats. "This is the Faery Realm, where we Faerys live! On behalf of the Faery Lord, we have long welcomed the living. Heed our advice well!"

Keats acknowledged the Faery, then continued on. He didn't get much further before he met two more Faerys.

_Heed our advice…_ the Faery had said.

_Well, I guess I'll get their advice, then,_ Keats thought.

One Faery talked about portals, Folks, and Ids. Nothing he said made much sense to Keats, so Keats moved on to the other Faery.

"Long, long ago, the living sometimes visited the Netherworld, but not now," the Faery said. "Why did people forget they could visit the Land of the Dead?"

Shaking his head, Keats passed them and went deeper into the woods. He quickly found himself in a clearing, where he was met by two strange creatures. One was vaguely humanoid, if very small - it looked like an elf, only it was quite ugly and had a somewhat wicked smile. The other was purple, and had a face that looked like a round mask; short, three-fingered arms (the fingers were clawed); a small body; horns; and a single, long, thin leg that made up most of its height, with a single foot that really looked more like a hand at the end.

"Well!" Keats commented. "Straight out of a fairy tale."

The two creatures said nothing. They just stood there for a minute, staring at him.

Suddenly, they leapt at him.

"Yikes!" Keats exclaimed as he fell back, startled by the sudden attack.

"Beware!" Belgae called, and he jumped in front of Keats and knocked the two creatures away.

Keats stood and looked at Belgae. "You…" he said.

"Sir, you are not hurt, I hope?" Belgae asked him.

Keats was about to answer when he noticed the two creatures lying on the ground. A glowing red aura was coming out of them - it could have been the creatures' shadows, were they not glowing, red, and apparently rising out of their owners.

He gasped. "What the…?" he asked, unable to even finish his question.

"It is the energy of their souls, or their Id," Belgae explained. "Sir Keats, hold out your hand."

Keats hesitated, unsure.

"Quickly!" Belgae urged.

Keats did as he said. Immediately, a glow started to surround his outstretched hand and seemed to pull in the Ids.

"That's it," Belgae said.

As the glow around his hand became bound to the Ids by strange beams of energy, Keats felt himself begin to be pulled forward. Automatically, he pulled back, and when he did, the Ids popped out of the creatures fully and flew to his hand.

He gasped as he felt his body absorb the creatures' powers. "A surge of energy!" he exclaimed out loud.

As suddenly as it had come, the feeling was gone…but something was different. Keats could still feel the creatures' essences inside of him…well, in his _mind_…sort of…

"Hmm?" he questioned, turning to Belgae.

"Remember that feeling," Belgae told him, offering no explanation. "I will not always be there to help you."

Keats shook his head. "This place is a zoo," he said. "What _were_ those things?"

"They are Folks," Belgae explained. "A devolved form of the souls of the dead. You are blessed with the ability to absorb their Id."

Keats shook his head again but said nothing; he had no idea what to say.

"An inquisitive man like yourself must be happy to jump into the action?" Belgae asked.

"I'm…not sure," Keats said slowly. On the one hand, it was exciting, but on the other hand, it was scary.

"Do not be afraid," Belgae told him. "Your instincts know more than you do yourself." And with that, he left.

Keats proceeded. He immediately encountered another elf-like Folk, and somehow, instinctively, he knew what to do: he summoned the Id of the elf-like Folk he had absorbed - Pouke, he realized it was called - and used its power to hit the Pouke that was attacking him. After just a few hits, the other Pouke's Id came out, and again, Keats knew what to do - he held out his hand, grabbed the Id with the strange energy, and pulled. When he absorbed it this time, he didn't feel a new presence; all he felt was a small surge of energy.

As he went on, he found more Pouke and purple things - Killmoulis - which he also fought. He had just gotten the hang of using Folk Ids when he reached another clearing, where more Faerys - not Folks - were waiting. He took the time to speak briefly with them all - he wanted to find out as much as he could about the Netherworld.

"This is the Land of the Dead," one Faery told him. "It is known as the Netherworld in your legends. The Netherworld is the name your kind use to distinguish this world from your own." Then the Faery laughed and added, "The funny thing is, some of _us_ even call it that!"

"Today is the day of Samhain," said another. "It's a special day for the dead. On this day alone, the living can enter the Netherworld. You aren't granted much time, so you must seek out the dead quickly. If whomever you seek died recently, they may still be around."

The third Faery talked about Folk-battling strategies, things that absorbed or defeated Folks might leave behind that Keats could pick up, and Messengers. It also explained a bit more about what Folks were.

Finally, Keats met Belgae again.

"Sir Keats, there's a woman up ahead," Belgae said to Keats. "I believe it's the woman you're looking for - the one who died on the Cliff of Sidhe. But do hurry! There's not much time left!"

Ahead was a large tree. As Keats approached it, sure enough, he saw a woman standing under it, her back to him.

He cleared his throat and walked up to her.

"Excuse me," he said. "I…" He hesitated, unsure of what to ask first. "I got a letter from my father telling me to come to the Cliff of Sidhe in Doolin Village," he finally said. "When I got there, I found you…but you were dead. Do you maybe know him?"

The woman didn't move, didn't speak.

Keats cleared his throat again, afraid he'd gone about things the wrong way. He decided to start over.

"Are you Ingrid?" he asked the woman. "What happened to you?"

At last, the woman spoke…but softly, more to herself than to Keats.

"17 years ago," she said. "I will never forget. The night of Samhain." Suddenly, her hands clenched into fists. "It's your fault!" she shouted furiously.

Keats took a step back, surprised. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Why, you…you horrid boy!" the woman shouted, turning to him. "You're possessed! It's all your fault!" She bared her teeth in a snarl and leapt at him. "_I'll kill you_!" she shrieked.

"Yikes!" Keats exclaimed, jumping back.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light. When it faded, Keats looked around and found himself in the village pub.

He blinked, trying to make sense of things. "A dream?" he wondered out loud.

Then he looked to his right, and saw Belgae standing beside him.

"Or not," he mumbled, looking down again. Then he turned his face back up to look at Belgae and asked, "This is what you meant by a time limit, eh?"

Belgae said nothing.

Keats sighed. "But nothing was solved," he said, frustrated. "Why was the woman on the cliff murdered? Where is my father?"

"To find the answers, listen to the voices of the dead," Belgae replied. "Find a memento of the dead and offer it at at the Henge at night. If the dead listen, the door will open."

With that, Belgae vanished in a flash of light.

"Wait!" Keats cried. "I must know more!"

But Belgae was gone.

"Damn!" Keats cursed to himself.


	3. E Prologue

Prologue (Ellen)

The girl turned from the cliff and ran back the way she had come. Ellen followed her, and together, they hurried down to the beach.

They looked around, not saying a word to one another, searching for some trace of the dead woman.

Nothing.

_We're probably too far away from the cliff to find anything,_ Ellen thought.

She stood still, her back to the other girl, and tried to make sense of it all.

_Whoever that woman was, she wasn't the one who called; it was definitely a man's voice on the phone…so why was she here?_ Ellen wondered. _More importantly, why was she dead? And who phoned me?_

Ellen vaguely registered that the man from the cliff had come down, and he and the girl were exchanging words. She was too lost in thought to pay attention to what they were saying…

"Excuse me." The words - the very same ones she had spoken to those other two just a minute or so ago - broke through to her.

She turned her head. "Yes?" she asked the girl who had spoken.

"Is there somewhere in the village where we could stay?" the girl asked her.

"Hm? Oh! I'm sorry, I wouldn't know. I'm not from here," Ellen replied, turning to face them fully.

"This seems like an odd place for a holiday," the man commented.

"I'm not on holiday," she said. "Someone phoned me by accident, asking for help. He said to come to the Cliff of Sidhe in Doolin Village right away."

"By accident?" the man asked.

Ellen nodded. "Yes. I think he must have dialed the wrong number by mistake; I have no idea who he was. He sounded scared, so I'm guessing he was so frantic he misdialed."

"Someone asked you for help, and told you to come to the Cliff of Sidhe," the man mused out loud. "When you got here, a woman was dead on the edge of the cliff."

_Very true,_ Ellen thought, and she nodded again. "It certainly makes him more believable," she agreed.

"Why wouldn't he be believable?" asked the other girl.

"He said something about Faerys," Ellen told her. She wasn't quite sure why she was sharing all this with these two strangers; perhaps it was because they were clearly as confused about the dead woman as she was.

"I'd like to know who called you," the man said.

Ellen nodded again. "Me, too," she replied. "Very much. I know he didn't mean to ask me for help, but if he needs help, I want to do what I can."

"Well, maybe someone in the village knows who it was," the other girl suggested. "At the very least, maybe they'll know who that woman was."

_It's the best chance I've got,_ Ellen thought, and she walked over to the two and held out her hand. "I'm Ellen," she said.

"Keats," the man said, shaking her hand.

"Suzette," the other girl said, shaking Ellen's hand in turn.

"Nice to meet you," Ellen said.

"You too," replied Suzette, "even if it is under questionable circumstances."

"Let's go to the village and ask around," Keats said, apparently not in the mood for pleasantries. "Maybe we'll all find what we're looking for."

"What are _you_ looking for?" Ellen asked, curious, as the three of them started heading back up the hill and to the village.

"We're looking for our father," Suzette replied for Keats. "He sent my brother a letter asking him to come here, and I decided to come, too."

"Huh…" Ellen said, thinking. _So both Keats and I were asked to come here by an unknown person for mysterious reasons,_ she mused; _Suzette just came along for the ride…_

_I wonder if it really _was_ their father who wrote that letter…_

~o~

When they got to the village, Ellen, Keats, and Suzette all hesitated; what were they supposed to do, knock on doors?

Luckily, the village was small, and everyone in it knew each other, so none of them even locked their doors. The villagers were surprisingly friendly, though they were startled by the news that a woman had died on the cliff.

It was discovered that the only person in the village who was nowhere to be found was a woman named Ingrid, and the villagers concluded that she must have been the woman who had died on the cliff. To Ellen, all of the villagers seemed exceptionally sad about this, even for a close-knit community, though no one even seemed to even think of calling the police. _I wonder what her story was…_ Ellen thought.

Almost immediately after the conclusion that Ingrid had been the dead woman had been reached, Keats asked the villagers if there was anywhere that he, Suzette, and Ellen could stay for the night. The villagers, again showing a surprising level of hospitality, offered three places: a house that had been abandoned for years, a warehouse that had been refurnished so as to be habitable (if only just), and a hut that had belonged to the dead woman, Ingrid. The house was larger than the hut, but not large enough to accommodate all three of them.

Ellen was offered the dead woman's hut.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly!" she exclaimed, horrified. "I'll stay in the warehouse."

"That place is hardly even fit for a dog," Keats commented. "There's not even a bed; just an old couch."

"I'd rather sleep on an old couch than in the bed of a woman who just died," Ellen insisted.

"Well, _I_ don't mind," he said; "there's no reason for the place to go unused. Suzette, you can have that house to yourself," he added to his sister.

_He's so hard…_ thought Ellen._ How could anyone sleep peacefully in a bed that belonged to a living person only yesterday?_ Then she noticed how Suzette smiled at him, and amended her thought. _He's doing it for her…I guess that's not so bad._

So it was that when night fell, all three of the newcomers were staying in separate places.

~o~

Keats had been right; the warehouse really _was_ hardly fit for a dog. _Still, better than sleeping in a hut just marked by death,_ Ellen thought.

She curled up on the ratty old couch and tried to go to sleep…but she couldn't. It wasn't that she couldn't get comfortable; in fact, the couch was surprisingly fit as a makeshift bed. The problem was that she couldn't stop turning the events of that day over and over in her mind.

_What's going on?_ she thought. _I get a call from a mysterious man begging for help - a call that, surely, _couldn't_ have been meant for me - saying to come to the Cliff of Sidhe in Doolin Village. I get here, and I find two living people who are brother and sister, along with a dead woman. Keats said it wasn't him who phoned for help, so who was the man on the phone? And what does a dead woman have to do with it? A man calls for help, and a woman shows up dead where he asked help to come; that _can't_ be a coincidence. And Keats and Suzette…what part do _they_ play in all this? Was I asked here by the same person who wrote a letter to Keats, claiming to be his long-lost father? If not, how is it that we both got there at the same time? Could _that_ be a coincidence? And what was that about Faerys? I guess it makes more sense considering this is Doolin Village, the Village of the Dead, but…there must be _something_ real to fear here, Ingrid's death proves that._

Half asleep, her mind proposed another question, one she had refused to consider when she was fully conscious:

_…And what if that call _was_ for me?_

Ellen quickly shoved the thought aside; surely, it was impossible. Still, she couldn't think of any good explanations for the whole mess. _Ingrid must have known something, whoever she was, and that's why she was killed,_ she decided, but that was the only thing she could come to a reasonable conclusion about.

_If only I could have had a chance to speak with her…_ Ellen thought wistfully. _Better yet, if only the myths were true, and it really _was_ possible to speak with the dead here in Doolin Village…_

"Ellen…You're not alone. Uwee hee hee."

Ellen jumped to her feet. "Who are you?" she asked, looking around for the source of the sudden voice.

"Perhaps you _can_ find the answers," replied the voice. "Come to the pub; the people here are out of this world! Uwee hee hee!"

_The pub?_ Ellen thought. _Surely it's closed by now…?_

She stood where she was for a minute, thinking.

_Well, why not take a look?_ she decided. _It's better than tossing and turning here, trying to answer impossible questions…_

~o~

Sure enough, when Ellen got to the pub, she found lights on inside and the door unlocked.

_Open so late?_ Ellen thought.

She went inside…and froze.

_'The people here are out of this world…'_

The words of the strange voice that had told her to come to the pub drifted through Ellen's mind; and whoever it had been, they hadn't been kidding.

There were people in the pub…but not humans.

She looked around. There were five…people, or whatever, in total: there was a woman whose skin and hair were the same spectral shade of blue as her old-fashioned dress, who held a fan and had an umbrella that floated in the air next to her; a strange, pudgy person - probably female, Ellen guessed, but she couldn't be sure - with a hedgehog on his or her shoulder, wearing a bulging blue outfit and a blue witch's hat, and who carried a broom upside down; what appeared to be a large rat-like creature with oversized clothes and undersized glasses; a rather fleshy and pig-like creature with a blue snout, shaggy white fur on its back that covered its eyes, and large horns; and, standing behind the bar, there was a tall, relatively thin creature wearing glasses and a straw hat and holding a pipe to its mouth, whose one visible arm appeared to have a shirt sleeve on it, but it was hard to tell because the rest of its body was entirely covered in long, gray-brown fur. _All_ of them, however - even the animalistic ones - stood on two legs and were wearing human clothes…and, eerily, they all seemed to exude a strange blue light.

"Who's the new face?" asked the pudgy witch (her voice definitely sounded female).

"A young girl," replied the ghostly blue woman.

Ellen was too shocked to speak.

"A painter," the blue woman added. "Someone phoned her."

"A painter, huh?" the pudgy witch replied. "Well, I'm surprised she came here."

"Faerys?" Ellen heard herself wonder out loud. "Or perhaps ghosts?"

"Excuse us!" exclaimed the large rat-like creature. "We are Halflives. Call me Fir Darrig."

"Is this…a dream?" Again, Ellen heard herself speak her thought out loud, though she hadn't intended to.

The pudgy witch laughed heartily. "Going to the Netherworld?" she asked. "I'm Damona. It is true that you can meet the dead."

"Meet the dead?" Ellen repeated, bewildered.

The blue woman giggled. "You'll be the next to don the Cloak, then?" she asked.

"And open the door to the Netherworld!" Damona added.

"The Cloak? The Netherworld?" Ellen couldn't hardly think; it was all too much, too fast, for her to even begin to make sense of things.

"Scarecrow is outside," Fir Darrig told her. "He'll show you the way!" Then he laughed sinisterly and added, "He has waited ages for this day!"

For a moment, Ellen stood there, completely dumbstruck. The Halflives all went back to whatever they had been doing before she had arrived, apparently done talking to her.

_…Is that it?_ she finally wondered.

Uncertain, she approached Fir Darrig.

He chuckled. "Howdaya like my gear?" he asked her. "Pretty sharp fashion sense, eh?" Ellen didn't reply; she wasn't sure what to say. "I'm not all about good looks, though," he went on after a moment. "Got it up here, too! Go on, ask me anything!"

She turned to the pig-like creature.

"Th-the name's Jimmy Squarefoot!" he introduced himself; he spoke with a slight, nervous stammer. "O-Off to the Netherworld, are you?" he asked her. "The Netherworld is the Land of the Dead."

Ellen blinked.

"But-but the living sometimes go there," Jimmy went on after a moment. "Otherwise there'd be no m-myths about a-a Faery Realm!" He thought for another moment, then added, "Actually…th-there's a door to the Netherworld in this very v-village!"

_The Henge…The Netherworld…the Land of the Dead…I _think_ I'm getting it,_ Ellen thought.

She walked over to the bar.

"We welcome ye on this fine night!" the creature behind the bar said. "I'm Ganconer, barman, of sorts. We are Halflives…between the living and the dead. Scarecrow told us he'd be bringing someone. We've all been waiting for yer to come."

_Halflive…between life and death. Half-alive,_ Ellen thought. _I guess that makes sense…but where do they come from?_

She walked over to the blue woman.

"I'm Frizzie the Banshee," she introduced herself; "a Halflive who heralds death…You're off into the Netherworld to look for the woman who died, to find out what happened? How sweet!" she said with a smile.

Ellen smiled back, if nervously, and approached Damona.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "You're an angel! I never dreamed a girl so young would come here and believe the legend. The girl of his dreams finally walked into Scarecrow's life!"

Feeling a bit less dumbstruck - if no less shocked - Ellen finally left the pub. As soon as she was outside, she heard a voice from behind her…the same voice she'd heard before.

"What took you so long, Ellen?"

Ellen looked behind her, and saw a…a Halflive, it had to be a Halflive, who looked even stranger than most of the Halflives in the pub in its own way. It looked vaguely like a scarecrow, but…it had legs, and…it was holding a lantern in its left hand…and it wore a hat with bells at the ends of long extensions…and its eyes were glowing yellow circles.

"I'm Scarecrow," the Halflive introduced himself.

Ellen, who was once again sent reeling by this evidence of the supernatural, didn't immediately understand what Scarecrow had said. "Who?" she asked.

"Uwee hee hee," Scarecrow laughed in his strange, almost eerie way. "You want to know more, hmm?" he asked Ellen. "Then you should go to the Netherworld! The entrance leads beneath the south Henge. Come on, you'll see what I mean!"

With that, Scarecrow hopped away - for some reason, he kept his left leg bent at a ninety-degree angle, balancing his left toe on the ground to the right of his right foot, so he couldn't so much walk as hop.

Feeling very much like she was moving through a dream, Ellen followed him to the Henge. When they got there, there was what appeared to be a wall of green light over an opening in the hill.

Scarecrow stopped and turned around at the opening to see Ellen right behind him. "Uwee hee," he chuckled. "Glad you made it! Shall we go to see the dead woman?"

Ellen blinked. "You'll take me to her?" she asked.

"Uwee hee," Scarecrow chuckled again. "With pleasure! I have a soft spot for do-gooders. Today is special as it's Samhain - it's a Prayer Day for the Dead. You can go beneath the Henge. Go there to get your clothes."

"What kind of clothes?" Ellen asked. "Will I be able to speak with the dead woman, then?"

"Yes," Scarecrow replied, "but first you must perform the ancient ritual of donning the Cloak of Sidhe. Apparently, the ancients were able to use that mantle to bring the souls of those in the Netherworld into this world."

With that, Scarecrow disappeared beneath the Henge. Ellen hesitated for a moment, taking a little time to get her thoughts together, then followed him.

She found herself in a big, long stone corridor, lit by a mysterious greenish light, that ended at an enormous stone door carved with symbols. Scarecrow was nowhere to be seen, so Ellen proceeded down the corridor and opened the huge stone door on her own.

Scarecrow was waiting on the other side, in a proportionately huge room.

"There's an ancient Cloak in this chamber, used for Netherworld battle," he told her with no preamble whatsoever. "Ancient priestesses using the Cloak could hear the voices of the dead every night. You have the power to don the Cloak."

"Why me?" Ellen asked; the way Scarecrow had said it made it sound like it wasn't something just anybody could do.

"Uwee hee hee," laughed Scarecrow. "Trust me, I can just tell. That's why I brought you here."

Ellen took a deep breath. "I only want to know who phoned me and why, and why that woman was killed," she told Scarecrow. "I just want to help, if someone needs it."

"Yes, yes," said Scarecrow; "you're quite noble, aren't you? And you can do it, too; I'm sure you can."

It was then that Ellen noticed a mummy sitting in front of the raised part of the room towards the back. _Is that mummy wearing this Cloak I keep hearing about? _Ellen thought._ It must be…_

She approached the mummy and gingerly reached out and touched the end of one of its skeletal fingers.

Immediately, the mummy started to disintegrate from that fingertip, up its arm, across its body…

"Put on the Cloak of Sidhe," Scarecrow said as the mummy dissolved, "and you can meet the dead. The rest, Ellen, is up to you…"

No sooner had the mummy fully disintegrated than the clothes left behind rose, as though there was still someone - or some_thing_ - wearing them, and that person - or thing - had just stood up.

…but be careful…" Scarecrow went on; his back was to Ellen, so he didn't see what was happening.

The haunted Cloak suddenly lunged at Ellen, making a sound like a demonic growl. Ellen felt invisible hands close around her throat.

"Help!" she called to Scarecrow. "Help me!"

"…finding them may not be a good thing," Scarecrow finished; then he turned around and saw what was happening to Ellen.

"Wait, wait, I'm not finished!" he exclaimed, jumping over to help Ellen. The spirit turned on him, and somehow, he managed to overpower it. A glowing aura started coming out of him, and he hit his head a couple times, as though he was trying to knock it back in.

"Heehee," he chuckled, "need to be careful! This guy, he'll suck the life out of ya just ta spite ya! Lucky for me, I'm already half…dead! Uwee hee hee!"

Ellen took the moment to catch her breath.

Finally, things were ready to go. Before Ellen donned the Cloak, Scarecrow gave her one final warning.

"Now, I'll say this just one more time," he said: "The Netherworld is a very dangerous place. If you go there, you may never make it back."

Ellen hesitated a moment, then made up her mind once and for all.

"If I don't do this, I know I'll always regret it," she said decisively. "I'll always wonder if there was more I could have done to help. I won't live with that regret."

She began to glow. The Cloak unravelled and swirled around her as her normal clothes vanished, then began sewing itself back together around her to fit her perfectly. Some flaps on the front of the Cloak folded inward and suddenly covered her mouth and nose. For a moment, she was afraid, and tried to turn her face upwards to get out of the Cloak's suffocating hold, but no sooner had she done so than the Cloak's power surged through her body and the flaps released as she gasped involuntarily at the sensation. Light exploded around her, her hairstyle changed with a flash, and it was done.

She held her arms out in front of her, staring down at the cloak that now fit her like a second skin. She could feel a strange power pulsing through it - a pulse that also flowed into her body.

She turned to Scarecrow.

"Why, Ellen!" he exclaimed. "You look to die for! Uwee hee hee!"

_What a horrible pun,_ Ellen thought.

"Now don't be afraid," Scarecrow told her. "Go through the door."

Ellen then noticed the butterfly pattern that shone, floating, at the very back of the chamber; it looked like it was made out of huge droplets of liquid light.

"You mean that thing shining there?" she asked Scarecrow.

"Yes," Scarecrow answered. "That's the gateway between this world…and the Netherworld! Uwee hee hee!"

Ellen nodded, went to the very back of the chamber, and stepped into the liquid light pattern. There was a bright flash, and when it died down, Ellen found herself in a beautiful place that looked like an enchanted forest out of a fairy tale.

Scarecrow was somehow already there, waiting for her.

"What is this place?" Ellen asked him, breathless. "It's amazing…I could do a thousand paintings of this place and it wouldn't be enough…"

"There's no time to sightsee," Scarecrow told her; "you'll be driven out of the Netherworld at dawn. The question is, will you be able to find the dead woman by then? Uwee hee hee!"

Ellen was about to ask him why when he added, "Oh yes, and beware of Folks! They are made of the souls of the dead, and will attack!"

_Okay…the rest of the night sounds long enough, then,_ Ellen thought.

She walked along the path and was soon met by a small, elf-like person with gray skin and hair.

"Well now," he said upon seeing her, "first a live man, and now a live girl! Two in one day! We haven't had many live ones coming through even on Samhain of late. Welcome to the Faery Realm, where we Faerys live!"

_A man?_ Ellen thought, startled. _No one came here before me…_

She went a little further, and found two more Faerys. Deciding to find out as much as she could, she approached them.

One of them told her about portals, Folks, Ids, and other things, none of which Ellen could make any sense of.

"Messengers are go-betweens for the lands of the dead and the living, like a high priestess, or a medium in your tongue," the other one told her when she turned to him. "People have always wanted to see loved ones who have passed on. They used Messengers to do that. So we had live people coming here all the time, despite the danger of losing their souls."

_Losing their souls…?_ Ellen thought, startled.

She hesitated a moment, then passed the Faerys and headed deeper into the woods, quickly finding herself in a clearing. There were two strange creatures already there, almost as though they had been waiting for her. One was vaguely humanoid, if very small - it looked like an elf, only it was quite ugly and had a somewhat wicked smile. The other was purple, and had a face that looked like a round mask; short, three-fingered arms (the fingers were clawed); a small body; horns; and a single, long, thin leg that made up most of its height, with a single foot that really looked more like a hand at the end.

"Hello," Ellen said to them. "I'm looking for a woman named Ingrid."

They didn't respond. They just stood there, staring at her.

Suddenly, the leapt at her.

"Aieeek!" Ellen screamed, startled by the sudden attack.

"Careful, Ellen!" Scarecrow called as he jumped in front of her and knocked the two creatures away.

"Scarecrow!" Ellen exclaimed.

"Be careful, Ellen!" Scarecrow repeated.

Ellen was about to respond when she noticed the two creatures lying on the ground. A glowing red aura was coming out of them - it could have been the creatures' shadows, were they not glowing, red, and apparently rising out of their owners.

She gasped. "What's this?" she asked Scarecrow.

"That's the energy from their souls, their Ids," Scarecrow replied. "Uwee hee, Ellen…Hold out your hand."

Ellen hesitated, confused.

"Hurry!" Scarecrow urged her.

Noting the urgency in Scarecrow's voice, Ellen held out her hand. A glow started to appear around her outstretched hand, seeming to pull in the Ids.

"Yes, yes that's it!" Scarecrow said, as the glow - which, Ellen realized, was coming from the _Cloak_, not her - attached itself to the Ids with strange beams of energy.

As soon as they connected, Ellen felt the Ids start to pull her forwards through the link. To avoid falling over, she automatically pulled back. When she did, the Ids flew out of the creatures and into her outstretched hand.

When the Ids reached the glove of her Cloak, Ellen felt a strange power flow through it.

She gasped. "The Cloak is absorbing something!" she exclaimed.

There was a flash of light, and the sensation ceased…but somehow, Ellen felt a change in the energy that pulsed through the Cloak.

"What just happened?" she asked Scarecrow.

"The Cloak can absorb their Ids," he replied.

"But what for?" Ellen asked, confused.

"To fight! Uwee hee hee," Scarecrow answered.

_Fight?_ she thought. _But…_ "But…I…I'm just a painter…" she said, speaking half of her confused thoughts out loud. "How could I…?" _How could I ever fight _anything_? I don't want to _fight_…_

"The Cloak will show you the way!" Scarecrow assured her, and he was gone.

Hesitantly, Ellen went on. She immediately encountered another elf-like Folk, and somehow, instinctively, she knew what to do: she summoned the Id of the elf-like Folk that had been absorbed into the Cloak - Pouke, she realized it was called - and used its power to hit the Pouke that was attacking her. After just a few hits, the other Pouke's Id came out, and again, Ellen knew what to do - she held out her hand, grabbed the Id with the strange energy, and pulled. When she absorbed it this time, the energy in the cloak didn't seem to change too much; it felt like there was just a little more power there that was really only _potential_ energy for some reason.

As she went on, she found more Pouke and purple things - Killmoulis - which she also fought. She still didn't like fighting, but she quickly realized that it was a matter of fighting or being killed.

She had just gotten used to fighting using the Folks that the Cloak absorbed when she reached another clearing, where Scarecrow and some more Faerys - not Folks - were waiting.

"Is that the man you met on the cliff and the dead woman?" Scarecrow asked her, motioning towards a large tree just ahead. "We don't have much more time. Samhain is almost over."

Ellen took a little time to speak briefly with the other Faerys - she wanted to know as much as she could - before proceeding.

"If you want to come back to the Netherworld, you'll have to do it like Messengers usually do," one told her. "That means properly communing with the dead, and opening a door to the Netherworld."

"A man has gone ahead of you," said another. "I wonder why he came here…"

The third Faery told her some things about Folk-battling strategies and different ways to increase the strength of the Folks she had absorbed. Lastly, he told her, "We Faerys aren't like the Folks; _w__e_ won't attack you. But something has happened that necessitates our involvement in fighting."

Passing the Faerys, she approached the large tree and saw two people standing under it: a man, with his back to her, and a woman, a little further on, with her back to him.

Some of the man's words managed to drift to her as he spoke: "…did you maybe…what happened…"

Ellen took a closer look when she recognized the man's voice. "Isn't that…? Yes, it's Keats! What is he doing here?" she wondered out loud.

"Why not go and ask him yourself?" Scarecrow asked her.

"I'd rather not intrude…" Ellen replied slowly. "But…how did he get here before me?"

"Uwee hee," Scarecrow chuckled. "Time doesn't work the same way in the Netherworld as it does in the real world."

Ellen heard another voice - not nearly loudly enough to make sense of - and looked at the woman just a little further on from Keats. "Is that the woman who died on the cliff?" she asked.

Before Scarecrow could reply, Keats' words reached them, loud enough to hear perfectly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding surprised and confused.

The woman's reply was loud and perfectly intelligible:

"Why you…You horrid boy!" she shouted, turning around. "You're possessed! It's all your fault!" Ellen watched the woman leap at Keats. "_I'll kill you_!" she shrieked.

"Yikes!" Keats exclaimed, jumping backwards.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and when it died down, Keats was gone.

"He ran out of time," Scarecrow told Ellen. "You don't have much time left, either. If you want to talk to that woman, you'd better hurry!"

Not needing to be told twice, Ellen ran up to the woman who had been left behind.

"Are you Ingrid?" she asked the woman.

"Exactly who are you?" the woman asked suspiciously in reply.

"Oh, me? I'm just a painter," Ellen replied. "Someone made a call for help…do you know anything about that?"

"A call for help?" the woman asked, confused. "I don't know anything about that…"

Ellen sighed. _Oh, well,_ she thought; _I guess it doesn't really matter anymore._

"Did you write that letter to Keats, claiming to be his long-lost father?" she asked the woman.

"That's right," the woman replied. Then her teeth bared in a snarl and she added, "I was unable to settle that score from 17 years ago."

"You called him to Doolin in the hopes of doing so, but only got yourself killed," Ellen half-asked.

"Killed?" the woman repeated, apparently startled. She thought for a moment, then said hesitantly, "I…I remember now. My…my family! My daughter, the light of my life…I lost my whole family!" she exclaimed.

"Are you Ingrid?" Ellen asked.

She nodded. "Yes…and I lost everything because of him!"

"But how do you know him?" Ellen asked. "What did he do? Why are you doing this? What happened 17 years ago? Who killed you?" All of her questions came out at once; she couldn't hold them in any longer.

"I…I can't…?" Ingrid said.

Suddenly, there was another flash of light. When it died down, Ellen found herself back in the warehouse.

Scarecrow was standing beside her.

"Time's up, Ellen," he said. "Samhain has ended. This is the real world."

"But I didn't find out _anything_!" Ellen exclaimed, frustrated.

"Uwee hee…" Scarecrow chuckled. "If you want to find out more, maybe you should meet with that woman again."

"To the Netherworld again?" Ellen asked. "How can I get there?"

"Find a memento of the dead and offer it to the henge at night. That will open the door to the Netherworld," Scarecrow told her.

Ellen said nothing.

"Uh-oh, morning's almost here," Scarecrow said. "Good night, Ellen. See you after dusk."


	4. Belated Disclaimer

Belated Disclaimer (and Self-Explanation)

I realize I probably should have done this a while ago (like, before I started publishing this story), but better late than never, so here goes:

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters or settings in this fanfic are my original idea. A lot of the events in this story are also not my original idea. Several of the conversations in this story are copied word for word from the original story; in fact, for the record, they are not even done from memory. I mean, my memory's good, but it's not THAT good! I confess that, with the exception of the Intro (which WAS done entirely from memory), I am playing through the game with my computer in front of me, typing every word that every character said with as much precision as possible (as you can imagine, this is especially difficult during the full-blown cinematics, where I can't pause or go back). I then go back afterwards and re-write the chapters to fit the one parameter I set for this story that WAS my original idea (that Herve survived and grew up, and Cecelia died), trying to stick as close to the original as possible. I have included the characters' thoughts in their respective chapters, not to change their personalities, but to _accentuate_ their personalities as I understood them. Also, certain bits and pieces of conversations have been altered that did not need to be altered for the sake of fitting my new parameter; this was done only for the sake of either clarity or proper grammar.

I would also like to explain why I'm going to the trouble of doing this instead of just taking creative license (believe me, this is NOT easy):

For those people who may not have understood the ending (I don't know if even I would have, had I not looked it up): In the original story, Keats is a Halflive created from Herve's dead soul and Cecelia's wish for Herve to live and grow up. About one and a half times through the game, it occurred to me that if Dr. Lester had NOT chosen to sacrifice Herve to save Cecelia (and assuming, of course, that Livane really DID cure Herve), Herve's wish for Cecelia to live would have been just as strong, and Ellen would have been the Halflive…and, of course, they probably would have found each other eventually, just like in the original story. I thought that was extremely romantic; and, naturally, me being a hopeless romantic, I started thinking, "Hmm…I wonder what that would look like." When I'd pondered it enough to write the Intro for this alternative story, I wrote it, published it, and committed to finishing the story before I'd even fully thought it through. I am learning what the story would look like as I go along. In doing so, I have already been surprised many times, not only by how many things needed to be drastically altered (or glossed over, if there was no real way to resolve the inconsistency) to fit, but also by how many parts I have been able to make exactly the same.

I have also been told that not many people will read this story, as the Folklore section of this site is "pretty much…dead." I find that very sad; I feel like there are a lot of fanfics that could be written from this game, as so many things were left open-ended. I suppose the fact that this section pretty much died out by the time I got here is because I was so late to play the game and write this story (I mean, this game was released in, what, 2007?). In the end, though, it's okay with me - I'm basically learning this story as I go along myself, and it's very interesting to see, if very exhausting to write.

This is going to be a very long project, not least because I'm only able to play through the original story during school breaks. Also, it's so exhausting to type as I play (and to subsequently re-write the story) that it's not fun or relaxing to do, as just playing would be. Still, no matter how long it takes, and no matter how few people will appreciate it, I AM going to complete this story. I swear it.

~wandergirl108


	5. K Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Familial Warmth (Keats)

Keats sat on a stool in the pub, trying to get his thoughts straight.

_There's too much I don't know,_ he thought. _Who wrote that letter to me? Who was the lady on the cliff, and what did she have to do with me or my father? She said I was possessed…? What happened last night? Was it all just a dream?_

_…I need to talk to Suzette about this,_ he decided, _and maybe Ellen, too. Maybe she found out some other things; I know she went to the Netherworld too, last night…that is, if it was real._

As he stood, the bartender commented, "Seems you dozed off at my pub."

Keats turned to him.

"None of the villagers are out and about after dark, so I close early," the pub owner went on. "Please come back when I'm open."

Keats stood still for a moment. _Closed?_ he thought. _Does he not know that supernatural beings take over at night?_

Then he chuckled inwardly to himself. _Listen to me,_ he thought. _I must be going mad. Of course the bar is closed at night!_

He turned back to the door and walked out, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that said, _Then how did you get in here last night?…_

~o~

Keats went directly to the house Suzette was borrowing and told her everything. For a long while after he was done, she was silent.

"You can't talk to the dead, you know," she finally said.

"I know that," he said, "but real or not, it meant _something_."

Suzette nodded silently. It was another minute before she spoke again.

"She said you were possessed?" she asked.

Keats nodded. "I don't know what that means, though. I didn't recognize her at all…but I think…I think maybe I've been here before."

"You have?" Suzette asked, startled.

Keats sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I don't remember anything from before I was ten…but maybe I was here before that. Last night's illusion could have just been the release of some repressed memories…"

"Makes more sense than talking to the dead," Suzette said with a shrug.

"Belgae said I needed a memento of the dead and that I was to offer it to the Henge at night," Keats said, more to himself than to his sister. "Perhaps if I can find something of Ingrid's…"

There was a knock on the door. Keats stood up and opened it without asking who it was; the villagers trusted one another enough to just walk into each other's homes whenever they liked, so there was only one person who could have knocked…

Sure enough, Ellen stood in the doorway.

"Keats!" she exclaimed. "There you are! I tried to find you in that hut, but you weren't there, so I came here…"

"Come in," he told her.

"Yeah, and tell us if you had the same dream as my brother last night," Suzette called from where she sat.

"Dream?" Ellen asked as she walked inside and Keats shut the door. "It seemed very real to me…"

"So you did go to the Netherworld last night?" Keats asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Ellen turned to him and nodded. "Yes," she said, "and I saw you there. You were speaking with Ingrid…What were you doing there?" she suddenly asked.

Keats blinked. "I…ah…I was brought to the Henge by a spirit named Belgae-"

"You mean a Halflive, like those people in the pub?" Ellen asked.

"I…guess," Keats replied slowly. Ellen just looked at him silently, so he went on, "Belgae brought me beneath the Henge, and I saw you donning the Cloak. Then…I was chosen as your Guardian."

"My Guardian?" Ellen asked.

Keats nodded. "At least, that's how I interpreted the title. All Belgae said was that when Messengers are chosen, Guardians are also chosen…"

"You almost sound like you suddenly believe in this stuff," Suzette commented.

"Of course I don't!" Keats assured her quickly.

"Of course," Suzette muttered sarcastically.

"Well, _I_ believe it," Ellen declared. "If we both had the same experience, it _must_ have been real."

She had a point, but Keats would never admit it, especially not with his little sister there; he didn't want to give her the wrong idea…

"I spoke with Ingrid after you left the Netherworld," Ellen said after a moment, and she told Keats and Suzette what she'd learned.

"Her daughter…?" Keats asked when Ellen was done. "She lost her family because of…_me_? I don't understand…"

"I think I should speak to her again, but I need a memento of hers," Ellen said.

"To offer at the Henge at night, so you can open a door to the Netherworld?" Keats asked.

Ellen's eyes widened, but she nodded. "Yes," she said; "how did you know?"

"I was given the same instruction," Keats answered.

"Well, I don't think you should be the one to talk to her again," Ellen said; "not if she holds a grudge against you, for whatever reason…"

Keats nodded his agreement; but then, who should _he_ speak to?

"I think we're all forgetting something very important, and a lot more real than all of this," Suzette said: "A woman was murdered here."

Keats nodded. "Yes, that's true; and as this is a small, close-knit village, outsiders like us are going to be the prime suspects."

"But we know it _wasn't_ us!" Ellen exclaimed.

"You were the only other person on the cliff," Suzette commented.

"Suzette!" Keats exclaimed, surprised, not only at his sister's words, but also by her almost-cold tone.

"Whatever do you mean?" Ellen exclaimed at the same time.

Suzette shrugged. "My brother and I had only just gotten there when you met us," she said to Ellen.

"I had only just gotten there when I met you!" Ellen exclaimed, sounding hurt and confused.

"We know that," Keats said firmly, giving his sister a stern look; "but it is true that we will be the most suspected of the murder…and while the villagers have shown surprising hospitality, keep in mind that they probably don't like it when outsiders get involved with their business."

"They took note of our news, and they gave us all places to stay, but they didn't tell us anything," Suzette said, nodding.

Ellen nodded, too. "Yes, I noticed that as well," she said. "They all seemed exceptionally sad about Ingrid being dead, even for a close-knit community. I wanted to ask what her story was…"

"Well, thanks to you, we already know part of that story," Keats pointed out: "She lost her whole family."

"We don't know that," Suzette snapped, and again, Keats was surprised by her hostile tone. "You had a dream, that's all. Let's focus on what's _real_ here."

Keats stared at his sister. He had never known her to be so unkind, about _anything_. _But do you really know her very well at all?_ asked a nasty voice in his head.

Shoving the thought aside, he said to Ellen, "Well, good luck finding a memento of Ingrid's. You should ask around. Maybe someone will be willing to share something."

Ellen nodded. "I'll do that," she said. "In the meantime, why don't you ask around, too?"

"I think I will," Keats replied.

Ellen nodded again, then left.

Keats stared at the door for a moment after Ellen had shut it behind her, then turned to his sister.

"What was all that about?" he asked her. "I've never known you to be so cruel."

"Well, _someone_ needs to keep in mind the difference between dreams and reality," Suzette replied with a shrug, "and since _you're_ not willing to do it…"

"I _am_ doing that," Keats told her firmly, "but that dream had to have meant _something_. Besides, there's no harm in trying."

"Be careful you don't go mad," Suzette said.

_She's right,_ Keats thought. _I could be going mad…I _must_ be, for even thinking of trying._

_Still…_

"Perhaps I'll try it with something of Mother's," he said.

"I thought you were going to ask around," Suzette said.

"I am," Keats assured her, "but if I'm Ellen's Guardian, then I think that means that I'm supposed to go with her when she travels to the Netherworld. Besides, I'd like to talk to a dead person, too. I'd like to know if I've been here before, or if Mother had…"

"Keats," Suzette said, sounding exasperated, "_it wasn't real_!"

"There's no harm in trying," Keats repeated firmly.

"Why don't we just _leave_?" Suzette asked. "Father's not here…"

"We don't know that," Keats heard himself say.

"But if Ingrid was the one who wrote that letter, then Father never asked you here," Suzette argued.

"Well, even if he isn't, _something_ from my past _is_," Keats responded. "I _do_ know _that_."

"How?" asked Suzette.

"I just know," Keats replied; he couldn't explain it, but he felt like he really was connected to Doolin Village, somehow…

"Well, if you're really set on doing it, then take this," Suzette said, and she produced a ceramic doll.

Keats gasped. "Suzette!" he exclaimed. "Why did you bring that?"

"Hey, it wasn't like I was planning on swimming in the ocean at night in a storm," Suzette said with a shrug. "You said mum held this doll as precious, so I figured Father would, too, and…I just wanted to be able to prove to him that I was who I said I was."

Keats blinked. "I didn't know you had any doubts," he said.

"I just wanted to be sure," Suzette said, handing the doll over to him. "But now that we're not going to be seeing him, I have no use for it anymore; and apparently, _you_ have a use for it now, so take it."

Keats took the doll, too shocked to speak. _No use for it?_ he thought. _This was Mother's most treasured possession…and Suzette doesn't care?_

"Um…thank you," he said to Suzette. "I'll come back when I find something out."

"_If_ you find something out," Suzette said to his back as he left.

Keats closed the door behind him, then stood still, thinking.

He shook his head._ I've never seen this side of Suzette before,_ he thought. _I've always known her to be kind and caring…but she accused Ellen of murder, she accused _me_ of being mad, and she sees no value in this doll just because she can't show it to Father…and…she was acting so cold, almost cruel, even towards me…_

It was then that a truly horrible thought occurred to him:

_Do I even know my sister at all?_

~o~

As promised, Keats went around the village, talking to the villagers. Apart from the pub owner, there were only four other people available to talk to.

There was one man standing on the path between Suzette's borrowed place and the hut that had belonged to Ingrid.

"I'm O'Connell, a scholar," he introduced himself. "Modern man looks down on the wisdom of the ancients…We think the ancients' structures are meaningless, but we're wrong. Their Henge in this village had a very specific purpose. It was for traveling to the Netherworld, or, put simply, communicating with the dead."

_So it _was_ real?_ Keats thought. He was so deep in thought about this bit of information that he forgot to ask Mr. O'Connell about the murder.

Almost directly across the path from the house Suzette had borrowed lived a woman in a wheelchair, named Harriet. Keats went there next, though he was still a bit preoccupied.

"You're investigating Ingrid's death on the cliff?" she asked when he explained why he had barged in. "I don't know anything about it. I can't go to the cliff." She paused, giving Keats more than enough time to blush with embarrassment. _Of _course_ she can't go to the cliff!_ he berated himself. _She's in a wheelchair!_

"I will tell you this, though," Harriet finally went on: "The people of long ago used to believe that cliff was a gateway to the afterworld."

Keats gave her an embarrassed nod and left.

The next door he found turned out to be the door to Mr. O'Connell's place, and the one after that was boarded up. Along the path to the lighthouse, Keats found the pub owner's home, where he met a little blond girl.

"I'm Charlotte," the little girl introduced herself. "I live with my Uncle. My Uncle loves talking to people, you know. That's why everyone asks him for help." Then she smiled and added, "I hope you can help, too!"

_Me, too,_ Keats thought, and he left.

The last person to be found in the village was an elderly woman standing in front of her house, who introduced herself as Mrs. Lester.

"You're investigating the death of the lady on the cliff?" she asked when he approached her. "I'm sorry; I'm afraid I don't know anything. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, if you ask me. My husband in particular doesn't like discussing events from the past."

Her husband was unavailable to speak with.

As Keats walked back to the hut to rest until nightfall, he thought about what he'd learned.

_Well, apart from the bit about the Henge, the only thing I _really_ learned is that this is an incredibly small village!_ he thought as he fell asleep.

~o~

When Keats awoke after dark, the first thing he saw was the ceramic doll he'd left on the table on the other side of the small room.

_So, the memento of the dead is a ticket to the Netherworld, eh?_ he thought, pushing the sheet aside and standing up.

He walked over to the table. _If I find any reason to believe that last night's dream was in fact real,_ he thought as he picked up the doll, _then this is something I have to try._

So, he pocketed the doll, went outside, and headed to the pub.

~o~

When he got there, the lights were on, and the door was unlocked, just like the previous night…and, sure enough, the people there were far from human.

Keats looked around. Fir Darrig, Jimmy, Ganconer, and Frizzie were there, in the same places as last night. Damona was absent, though, and in the corner to the right of the door sat what appeared to be a two-headed, gold-colored robot with a scarf.

_The same, and different,_ Keats thought. _Just like in real life…_

He approached Fir Darrig first. After greetings were exchanged, Keats mentioned that he'd like to find out about Ingrid's murder on the cliff.

"The question is, is anyone curious enough to let you?" Fir Darrig noted.

_True,_ Keats thought, remembering how the villagers had all essentially dodged talking about it.

He turned to Jimmy.

"The ancients knew h-how to t-travel to the Netherworld," Jimmy said. "They sh-shared their knowledge."

_They certainly did,_ Keats thought, remembering what Harriet had mentioned.

He then hesitantly approached the robot. _This one _definitely_ wasn't here last time,_ he thought. _I wonder what sort of person it is._

He didn't even have to greet it to find out.

"My name is Gam," said the right head.

"No, it is not," said the left head. "My name is Gee."

"No, Gam!" argued the right head.

"Do you know about the picture book?" the left head - Gee - asked Keats. "It contains bountiful information on the Folks."

The right head - Gam - made a robotic squeaking sound, then exclaimed, "Hey, you gave him a tip. I was going to do that!"

Gee made the same squeaking sound, then snapped, "Shut your trap, Gam!"

Keats backed off._ Clearly, these two bicker all the time,_ he thought. _The argumentative side of my consciousness, perhaps?_

Then, he absorbed what Gee had told him, and paused. _Picture book, eh?_ he thought. _I'll ask Belgae about it when I see him - er, _if_ I see him._

He then approached Ganconer, who was already comfortably familiar to him.

"Once ye know yer way about the Netherworld a bit, I might be askin' ya for some help," Ganconer told him.

_Help with what?_ Keats thought but didn't ask; he didn't want to waste too much more time.

Still, he had to approach Frizzie, since he'd spoken with all the others.

When he approached her, she shuddered. "Another villager…is going to die…" she said.

"Another villager?" Keats exclaimed. "Who?"

Frizzie didn't answer; she just shuddered again.

Startled and afraid, Keats slowly walked out the door.

Then, he laughed out loud, if quietly.

_It's not real!_ he reminded himself. _It's not as if I just spoke with an _actual_ supernatural being who could _actually_ predict the future…_

Telling himself that over and over, and ignoring the feeling in his gut that said otherwise, he walked to the Henge to try the memento.

~o~

When Keats got to the Henge, Belgae was there, waiting for him.

"I see you have the memento," he said. "The ancient mediums heard the wishes of the living just as you, and offered mementos of the dead on the stone pedestal, opening a door to the Netherworld."

"What happens when it's offered?" asked Keats.

"Listen for the voices of the dead," Belgae told him. "They shall reveal to you the Netherworld Door. You'll find it in a location of significance to them whilst alive."

_Well, if Mother was never here, that might be a problem,_ Keats thought, but he walked up to the stone pedestal - which was glowing with wisps of a purple light similar to the light with which Keats's eyes glowed in the Netherworld - and put the doll on it.

There was a flash that turned into an aura of blue and green light that surrounded him and the pedestal like a dome.

Keats strained his ears…and heard his mother's voice.

_"The place that held our family memories…"_ it said._ "I miss the lighthouse…"_

The light faded.

_A lighthouse, eh?_ Keats thought, and he walked straight to the cape where the lighthouse stood.

When he got there, he looked around for something that vaguely resembled the Netherworld Door he'd seen beneath the Henge.

Nothing. No strange lights, no-

Suddenly, as though his thought had conjured it, the lighthouse lit with a strange light that quickly grew to a blinding intensity.

Keats raised his arm to shield his eyes. _What is this?_ he thought.

There was a flash of light that quickly faded to a bearable strength, but didn't disappear. Keats moved his arm so he could look, and saw that an orb of light had materialized right in front of him…or no, it was still materializing - tiny spots of light kept flying into it…

Suddenly, the bits flying into the orb stopped coming, the orb grew in size and brightness, and suddenly, it bloomed into the exact same glowing butterfly design that Keats had seen beneath the Henge the night before.

_The spirits led me here, to the Netherworld?_ he thought._ Hmm…An ancient tale of a voyage to the Netherworld._ He chuckled. _Brilliant!_

He didn't hesitate as he stepped forward and jumped into the glowing butterfly.

~o~

Just as last time, there was a flash of light that died down quickly, and Keats found himself the Faery Realm…and, just as last time, Belgae was already there, waiting for him.

"Congratulations," he said to Keats as soon as the flash of light died down to reveal the magical forest; "You've opened the Netherworld Door. However, the dead one you seek vanished somewhere within the Faery Realm long ago."

_Vanished?_ Keats thought. _How can that be? This is the Land of the Dead…_

He was about to voice his question when Belgae continued, "My master awaits you beyond. She will offer you guidance."

"I'm not sure what's going on here," Keats said, "but…I can find her up ahead?"

"Yes," Belgae replied. "And take this with you; you'll be needing this when traversing the Netherworld!"

Belgae took a loose scrap of paper out of the book he always carried and gave it to Keats.

Keats looked at it.

There were symbols on it that he couldn't interpret, but most of the page was taken up by a picture. At the bottom were a number of figures that Keats quickly realized were Poukes. But in the drawing above them…

The Poukes appeared to be fighting something enormous - something with long, thick legs and an equally long trunk with a hammer on the end.

_I've never seen that thing before,_ Keats thought._ …Are there more Folks than just Poukes and Killmoulis?_

He chuckled to himself as it occurred to him. _Of _course_ there are; just Poukes and Killmoulis would be too easy…_

He pocketed the page and headed into the forest, not bothering to speak with the Faerys this time. When he reached the clearing, he was ready for the two Poukes who attacked him. When he had dispatched them, however, he noticed a path that led away from the main path.

_What happens if I go this way?_ he wondered.

Deciding to take a look, he followed the path into another clearing, and found…

_What is that?_

There was a Folk standing on the other side of the clearing, one Keats had never seen before (not that that was much of a surprise). It was a dark green color that gradually gave way to an orange-ish color at the extremities, including the head. It was a four-legged creature, muscular and beast-like, with a mouth like a beak and two long extensions coming off the sides of its head that curled into spirals to frame its face.

_Might as well fight it; its Id could come in handy later,_ Keats thought, and he ran at the creature.

It was a lot stronger than Pouke or Killmoulis; it took ten hits with the Pouke Id to take it down, and it wasn't easily stunned - it managed to slash at Keats with its razor-sharp claws more than once. Again, Keats was amazed at how real the pain felt, and while his injuries didn't manifest physically, he still felt them - even after the fight was over, the pain didn't fade. Finally, however, Keats managed to absorb its Id, and, in doing so, he discovered that the Folk was called a Treant.

He barely had time to take a breath before a bunch of Killmoulis appeared. He recovered quickly and fought them, sometimes using the Treant Id he'd just absorbed, which turned out to be powerful but somehow not as easy to use as Pouke.

When the Killmoulis were all gone, Keats looked for the path out, and discovered that the clearing was a dead end. When he turned to go back, he saw a large, white, floating, glowing stone in front of the path. It was made of crystals on the top, and…something else, on the bottom. He decided to hit it with Pouke, and it broke, revealing a scrap of paper.

Keats picked up the scrap of paper and looked at it. It depicted two Folks he hadn't seen before: one that appeared to be a large beetle, and one which sort of looked like a panther, save for the scythe that appeared to grow out of its head. It was impossible to tell which one was attacking the other from the picture, though. Still, Keats pocketed it.

Suddenly, it hit him.

_These must be from the picture book that Gee told me about,_ he realized. _How convenient!_

Then, he went on.

~o~

When he reached the clearing with the big tree, he didn't bother to stop and talk to the Faerys there again. When he got to the tree, however, he found a Faery standing where Ingrid had been.

"You meet other dead souls in much the same way as you came here - by opening the door with a memento," the Faery told him. "However, what lies on the other side is not always the Faery Realm."

_There are other places?_ Keats thought as he passed the Faery, but he quickly pushed the thought aside for the moment and proceeded around the tree, discovering that the path kept going.

He went on.

~o~

Keats quickly came to another clearing, where he found the Folk that had been depicted on the page that Belgae had given him.

_Just use Pouke?_ he thought, glancing at the page again. _Simple enough._

He fought the creature. To his alarm, he discovered that the creature's method of attack was to pound its hammer-ended nose on the ground, creating a large shockwave that sent Keats flying backward.

_I really need to get used to this lucid dreaming thing,_ he thought as he struggled to his feet. _The pain is so real here…_

_And what if all of this _is_ real? I could die…Is it even _possible_ to die in the Land of the Dead?_

Pushing the thought aside, he continued battling the Folk. It was even tougher than the Treant had been, but eventually, it gave in, and Keats absorbed its Id.

_Poury. That's what it's called._

The tiny bit of information flitted through Keats's mind, and was gone just in time for him to face the Poukes that came at him from further down the path…and the others that came up behind him.

He decided to try the Poury on them, and in doing so discovered that if he was hurt before an Id he used could complete its attack, the Id would disappear back inside him; this he found out when he summoned the Poury and was hit by a Killmoulis, and the spectral Poury vanished.

_Well, that's inconvenient,_ he thought. _Maybe I should take some time to strategize before I do that again. I'll use Pouke in the meantime._

He fought, won, and went on.

~o~

The next clearing he found himself in was a true clearing. In fact, it was a beautiful, fragrant flower garden.

_I guess even Faerys like flowers,_ he thought, bemused.

Naturally, there were some Faerys there. Keats decided to speak to them; clearly, there was still a lot he didn't know.

"Don't think this is some kind of dream," the first Faery he met told him. "The Faery Realm is very close to reality, you know. Legends of travels to the Netherworld are based on true experiences."

_Of course they are,_ Keats thought sarcastically. He didn't speak his thought out loud, though, and went and approached the other two Faerys in the garden.

When he approached the next Faery, it sighed and said to him, "Oh, all right, I'll tell you."

"Tell me what?" asked Keats.

"First of all: the nastier an attack an enemy unleashes, the more he's committed to it," the Faery replied. "If you manage to avoid it, you could have your chance. Also, you may come across mysterious scraps of paper with pictures of Folks on them. In fact, I think I spotted one in a blind alley somewhere…"

"I think I already found that one," Keats told the Faery.

"Oh," it said. "Well, here's a riddle for you: What is hard as a rock and impervious to attack, but crumbles like sand with a flick of flame or a touch of ice?"

Keats blinked. "I give up," he said.

"Mystery Stones," the Faery told him. "If you come across one, try another approach."

_Mystery Stones?_ Keats thought. _Is that what I found after I defeated that Treant?_

"Lastly, and most importantly: the stronger Folks have their own territories," the Faery told Keats. "To advance through such areas, the Folks' sanction is needed."

"How do I get it?" asked Keats.

"Just absorb their Ids," the Faery replied. "If you carry them with you, you can move on!"

"Thank you," Keats said, and he approached the last Faery in the garden.

"Each Netherworld is born from a collection of thoughts of the living on death," it told him. "These thoughts encompass everything from hope to grief, love to hatred. This Faery Realm, for instance, was formed from thoughts of enjoyment after death."

_Thoughts, eh? So…the Land of the Dead was made by the living?_ Keats mused as he passed the Faery and went to leave the garden. _Are memories here, too? Could I perhaps find _everything_ I've forgotten here?_

_Well, of course,_ he quickly reminded himself. _This is a reflection of my subconscious, nothing more._

~o~

The next section of the path was cut off at the other end by a barrier of what looked like glowing green vines. While the vines appeared to be made of light, Keats had no doubts that the barrier they formed was impassable.

_This could be a territory, like that Faery mentioned,_ Keats thought, _except that this clearing is empty. There's nothing here._

_What am I supposed to do?_

Uncertain, he walked towards the barrier. He had only taken a few steps when a Folk like an enormous beetle - several times Keats's size - landed in front of him.

Keats recognized it right away: it was the same large beetle Folk that he had seen on that scrap of paper he'd found. _I still haven't seen that other one, so this one must be the key to fighting it,_ he had just enough time to think before the enormous beetle attacked.

Keats fought it. It was immensely strong - it took a long time to wear it down. By the time the beetle's Id came out, Keats was badly injured.

What was more, once he grabbed the Id, it didn't just pop out. Keats had to struggle with it for almost a minute before it finally gave in. When Keats absorbed the Id, the barrier that had been blocking the path faded from existence.

_All that from one Folk…Andraste,_ he thought. _I _know_ this must be a dream, though, because even though I can feel that my injures are severe, they're not impeding me in any way, nor are they even visible._

It was then that he noticed the white Mystery Stone in the Andraste's territory. He hit it, and it broke to reveal a big blue droplet of light.

_What's this?_ he thought. Curious, he reached out and tried to take it.

As soon as his hand touched it, a surge of energy that was somehow soothing rippled through his body. It quickly faded, but the soothing sensation remained. It was a minute before Keats realized that his injuries had been partially healed.

_Well, well,_ he thought. _How about that…_

He left the Andraste's territory and moved to the next area, then turned left after fighting the Folks there. This led him down a long path with Mystery Stones that held Folks. Eventually, he came to a wall of blue Mystery Stones. Beyond them, he could see two Folks that were tall, had long, thin arms, and long black fur that suddenly (and apparently at their will) stood on end like a bunch of spikes. The blue Mystery Stones that blocked the path weren't affected by any of Keats's Folks.

_Well, that's a problem,_ he thought. _Now what am I supposed to do? Maybe I missed something…_

He went back, discovering that a Treant had appeared from somewhere. He didn't find anything else on that path, so he went back further. When he got back to the area just beyond the Andraste's territory, he looked to his left and found another path, which he took. The path led him to a large hill, which was covered with a swarm of Poukes.

There, Keats discovered that while Poukes weren't very strong on their own, ten or so at once was not at all easy to handle. What was more, when he took out one, or even several at a time, more appeared! Eventually they stopped coming, but by that time, his injuries were very severe.

Then two Treant appeared. Keats managed to fight them too, if only just.

_I can't take much more of this,_ he thought as he moved on. _I wonder what happens when I get too badly wounded? This is only a dream, after all._

When he passed the hill, he found himself in a much thicker, darker part of the woods. It almost felt like nighttime.

Keats was relieved to see Faerys ahead of him. _Folks and Faerys don't mix,_ he thought; _nowhere have there been Faerys and Folks in the same place._

He had barely finished thinking this when the nearest Faery approached him.

"Do you know about quests?" it asked him.

"No," he replied wearily.

"They're favors people ask you to do," the Faery told him. "Ask around at the pub; you must be up to performing a quest by now."

Keats was about to reply that he wasn't feeling up to anything just then when he noticed the flower.

The petals repeatedly furled and unfurled, and not all at once, but that wasn't what drew Keats's attention. The thing he focused on was the blue light with which the flower glowed. _It's the same color as that blue droplet that healed me earlier…_

Keats walked over to it, reached out his hand, and touched it.

Instantly, he felt the same surge of soothing energy as touching the droplet had induced, only far, far stronger. Keats felt his injuries heal fully. In less than a second, he was unharmed and strong.

But something else happened. Somehow, through the flower, Keats could sense a connection to the real world and to the little pond he had found himself beside when he had first entered the Faery Realm. He remembered what that Faery had told him about portals back…had it only been a single night ago? The Faery had said that the Netherworld would get dangerous as Keats went deeper, and that his injuries would be fully healed if he touched a portal.

_Well, then, I suppose that makes this flower a portal,_ he thought. _I'll experiment later…_

He turned…and saw a strange woman standing in the path, with Belgae right behind her.

Keats approached them.

"Are you the one Belgae talked about?" he asked the woman, remembering what Belgae had said about his master being ahead.

"Yes," she replied. "I am Livane. I used Belgae to reveal the path to the Netherworld to you." She studied Keats thoughtfully for a moment, then asked him, "Do you seek the truth?"

"Yes," Keats answered with no hesitation whatsoever. "That's why I came here. I want to know about my past, and about how I'm connected to Doolin Village."

Livane thought for a second, then said, "Very well. I'll tell you how you can do that."

Keats said nothing, letting her continue.

"In each Netherworld exists a powerful Folk called a Folklore," she told him. "You must absorb their Ids."

"How will that help me meet the dead?" Keats asked, confused.

"The Folklore are beings born from the accumulation of many souls and memories," Livane replied.

"So, I just find a soul or a memory, then?" Keats asked with a touch of cynicism. "'Needle-haystack' sums it up to me."

"Worry not," Livane reassured him. "The memories you seek will be drawn to you. Take this, just in case."

She produced a scrap of paper and gave it to him.

Keats looked at it, and discovered that it was actually two pages. One depicted a large beast hitting the head of a truly monstrous creature that dwarfed the other. The other page depicted a strange Folk shooting what appeared to be fire at an enormous flower.

_I'll probably understand this when I get to it,_ Keats thought, and pocketed the two pages.

He then went and approached the other two Faerys standing around.

"Living ones like you who can traverse the Netherworlds are known as Messengers," one told him. "That's because you serve to pass along messages between the living and the dead."

The other Faery chuckled, then said, "Be careful. When a living person perishes in the Netherworld, it's more terrifying than death - his spirit actually disappears!"

_Oh,_ Keats thought. _If this were real, that would be a very big problem. I wonder how that would even be possible…_

Setting the matter aside, Keats decided to go down the path that probably wasn't the right one; after all, as he had learned, there could be something useful in a space that was a dead end.

The clearing he came to was outside the deeper, darker forest, and though the light was still dim, Keats had to take a moment to adjust to it. He only had a moment, of course, before he was attacked by two Treants.

Keats fought them, defeated them, and looked around. Sure enough, it was a dead end. At the far end, though, he discovered a white Mystery Stone, which he broke. Inside was a scrap of paper…and three Killmoulis.

Of course, three Killmoulis weren't much of a challenge, and Keats quickly dispatched them and picked up the page. It depicted a creature being enveloped in flames by the same odd creature that had been depicted on the second of the two pages Livane had given him.

_I guess that must be an important Folk,_ Keats thought.

When he headed back, he found that another Treant had appeared. He defeated it just for the sake of doing so, then returned to the darker part of the forest.

Livane and Belgae were still there, so Keats approached them again, thinking that maybe they had more to say.

"If you defeat the powerful Folk known as a Folklore, you will be able to meet the dead," Livane told him again.

"Where is this thing, anyway?" Keats asked.

"Up ahead," Livane replied; "it dwells deep in the forest of the Faerys."

Keats nodded his thanks and turned to Belgae.

"Livane has been fighting for what seems like ages," Belgae said.

"Fighting?" Keats asked. "Why?"

"To stop the Faery Lord, and save the Netherworld," Belgae replied.

"Oh, the Faery Lord, of course," Keats muttered, and he went further. He didn't get much further, however, before he was met by a little blond girl in a pale green dress.

"Oh, you came," she said to him. "You shouldn't be here, you know."

Keats blinked. "Who are you? Are you…dead?" he asked the little girl.

She said nothing.

"I'm trying to find out about my past," Keats told her in the hopes of getting an answer.

"What do you want to know?" the girl asked.

"Well, I can't remember anything from before the age of ten," Keats answered.

"Why do you think you can't remember?" asked the girl.

Though he was getting mildly frustrated at the fact that the girl kept asking questions without answering his, Keats still answered openly and honestly. "I don't know," he replied. "The teacher at the orphanage thought that perhaps I'd hit my head in an accident or something."

"Something really bad must have happened to you," the little girl said. "When bad things happen to people, they forget it so that they can go on."

"I'd still like to know," Keats said. "I'm going to find out whatever I can."

"I wouldn't, if I were you," the girl warned him. "You won't be able to handle it."

"Do you know me?" Keats exclaimed. "Who are you?"

"I'm Cecelia," she replied.

Then, suddenly, she was gone.

_What was that about?_ Keats wondered, but he pressed on.

~o~

He met more Folks, naturally. Just a little ways on, he found the other Folk that had been on the second page he'd found - the one that looked vaguely like a panther, but with a scythe on its head. In person, it looked even less like a panther; for one thing, it was orange, and for another thing, it appeared to have scales. When it slashed Keats with the scythe on its head, neither Keats's clothes nor his skin were visibly affected, but he still felt the cut. It almost felt as if…as if…

…as if his _soul_ had been cut.

_This is the Land of the Dead,_ Keats realized; _it's a _spiritual_ place, not a _physical_ one. Of _course_ the Folks would damage my soul, and not my body…_

_…Which means this might be real after all._

When Keats defeated the Folk, its Id struggled a bit, as the Andraste's had, but it only took a few seconds for Keats to overcome it.

_Ogma._

He moved on, and quickly ran into the fire-spitting Folk he'd seen on the pages. They were a bit tough, but not as tough as Treants, and in absorbing them, Keats discovered that they were called Hinkey-Punks.

Also along the way, he found another scrap of paper that depicted almost the same scene as the last one he'd found had, except that the creature being attacked was much bigger and there was more than one Hinkey-Punk attacking it. Breaking some red Mystery Stones (which apparently only broke when hit with fire), Keats moved on to another territory.

This time, the Folk of the territory was already there, waiting for him. It was enormous, with thick black fur, horns, and huge clawed hands.

_The creature from the picture,_ Keats thought. _Right; I need to use Hinkey-Punk._

They fought. It was a fierce battle; the monster was far more powerful than anything Keats had yet experienced, and towards the end of it, Keats wondered if perhaps this was the Folklore. All on its own, the monster wounded Keats badly, so that he almost felt worse than he had before he'd touched the portal flower. Even defeated, its Id put up quite a fight. In the end, though, Keats overpowered and absorbed it.

_Bargest._

Keats pressed on, hoping that another portal was ahead.

~o~

To Keats's relief, the next area contained a portal, as well as several Faerys.

He hurried to the portal and touched it. This time, there was no mistaking it - the injuries that were healed by the blue light had been to his soul, not his body.

Spotting a Faery across a short bridge, Keats approached it.

"If you defeat the Folklore up ahead, you can see the memory of the dead," the Faery told Keats. "You're in for a surprise, though. If you value your life, return to your world."

_I can handle it,_ Keats thought, and he passed the Faery and went across another short bridge. _I have_ to...

Just as he crossed the second little bridge, Keats noticed another Faery standing atop a small staircase that led up to what appeared to be a door in a large tree.

Keats ran up the steps. To his surprise, what sounded like the laughter of children sounded as he walked on the steps, and little colorful lights flew up from them.

As soon as he reached the Faery, it said, "The hall of the Faery Lord lies beyond. No outsider may be granted an audience."

_That's fine,_ Keats thought; _I'm really after the Folklore, anyway._

He went back, and the lights and the laughter came out of the steps again. He had to go all the way back to the portal to see the other path.

There was one more Faery on the path, whom Keats stopped to speak to.

"Oh, all right, I'll tell you," the Faery sighed, just as the one in the flower garden had.

"What is there for you to tell me?" Keats asked.

The Faery sighed again. "Up ahead is a giant monster, a fusion of souls and memories, known as a Folklore," it told Keats. "It's name is Cernunnos, and it must be handled carefully. It is heavily armored and its tentacles are lightning swift. Your best chance is to whack it in the head to quiet it down. The question is, who should whack it?"

_Bargest,_ Keats thought, remembering the pages Livane had given him.

"Also ahead is a place where Poukes often hold festivals," the Faery went on. "12 Poukes dance together, celebrate, and bury treasure. You should have a look!"

"What I'm really interested in is meeting the dead," Keats told the Faery.

"Well, the Faery Lord had a room made to summon the dead," the Faery told Keats. "After all, it's sometimes difficult to find the dead in the vast Netherworld. Normally, only Messengers who are on quests of the living can use it."

"I am," Keats stated.

"Well, then, all you have to do is defeat the Folklore," the Faery said. "The Folklore's power is probably causing the Audience Hall to malfunction; if you defeat it, the room should return to normal, and then you'll be able to use it."

Keats nodded. "Now, about this Faery Lord…" he began, curious about who exactly the Faery Lord was.

"Someone like you has no chance of gaining an audience in the hall of the Faery Lord," the Faery stated.

_Someone like me? What's that supposed to mean?_ Keats wanted to ask. He didn't, though. _After all,_ he reasoned, _if this Faery Lord is someone Livane has had to fight to save the Netherworld, he probably couldn't help me much anyway…_

~o~

Just a little ways on, Keats saw a circle of Poukes dancing around a Mystery Stone. _So, they bury treasure, eh?_ Keats thought. He fought them and was wounded slightly - after all, large groups of Poukes were difficult to handle. He didn't want to go back after he defeated them, figuring that more Poukes would appear by the time he came back, so he broke the numerous Mystery Stones that had appeared after the Poukes were gone. Sure enough, he found more droplets of blue light inside of some of them. One was at least twice as big as the other ones, and the surge of energy was, likewise, at least twice as strong. He was fully healed by the time he was done.

Also, in the Mystery Stone that the Poukes had been dancing around, Keats found an actual, large, genuine cut emerald.

_Well how about that…_ he thought, pocketing it. _I wonder what a gemstone's purpose could be here in the Netherworld - surely, Faerys aren't concerned with material possessions…_

And so, he went on…to battle the Folklore, Cernunnos.

~o~

Keats found himself in what appeared to be a swamp of black sludge. A second later, the sludge bubbled, and out of it rose an enormous creature that vaguely resembled a turtle. Its head and neck dripped with black sludge, and it had teeth.

_Right,_ Keats thought; _hit it in the head with Bargest._

He fought. No matter how many times he hit Cernunnos in the head, however, it refused to "quiet down", as the Faery had suggested. Its tentacles spewed poison, and they really were lightning swift. Sometimes, roots came out of the ground and struck Keats, and he knew that that was Cernunnos's doing.

He kept fighting - what else could he do?_ I should have expected this,_ he thought. _The Folklore is supposed to be far more powerful than any ordinary Folk. I should have known it would take quite a few hits to knock it out…_

At long last, Cernunnos let out a big roar before its neck strength gave way and its head splashed down into the sludge, where it disappeared. The sludge on its neck seemed to melt, forming almost a walkway that gave access to its back. Keats ran up it.

Suddenly, its back bloomed into an enormous flower. It wasn't a pretty flower - in fact, it almost looked more fungal than floral.

_Attacking a huge flower with Hinkey-Punk,_ Keats thought, remembering the second page Livane had given him.

So, he started attacking with Hinkey-Punk. It certainly seemed to have some effect, though not much. The flower sometimes spat out what looked like large golden fruits, which would hit Keats and knock him all the way off of Cernunnos's neck.

Finally, Keats's persistence paid off, and Cernunnos's Id came out.

Naturally, when Keats grabbed it, it put up a terrific fight. It was about twice as hard to absorb Cernunnos's Id than it had been to absorb that Bargest's Id. The struggle was almost another battle in and of itself. Still, Keats prevailed and absorbed the Id, and Cernunnos melted back into the sludge of the swamp.

This time, Keats didn't feel a new presence inside him - he just felt an overall increase in power. He didn't have a second to ponder it, though, before he noticed the door that appeared out of nowhere where Cernunnos had been.

Keats opened it…and gasped. On the other side was a whirl of an orange aura; clearly, this door was a portal.

_How chic!_ he thought, and he stepped through it.

There was a bright flash of light, and when it died down, Keats found himself in…

_Is this…the pub?_ he thought, looking around.

Suddenly, the deer head over the fireplace gave a tremendous yawn. "Nice nap!" it said to itself.

Keats gasped.

"Hah?" the deer exclaimed, looking for the sound of the noise. "Aw, no!" it groaned when it spotted Keats.

Keats blinked. What had he done wrong?

"Get lost, chap!" the deer snapped at Keats. "I'm busy!"

"Aw, give me a chance," Keats said. "I fought my way through the entire Faery Realm and defeated the Folklore just to get here."

"Blimey!" the deer exclaimed.

"If you don't mind my asking, there are two things that I'm wondering about," Keats said. "One: what's the village pub doing here? And two: can I really meet the dead?"

"Oh, this?" the deer replied, gesturing at the room with its head. "This is all borrowed imagery. If you must meet the dead, might as well do it in comfort…so shut up and say thanks!"

Keats blinked again. _Clearly, this deer is not an agreeable sort of person,_ he thought.

The deer turned its head. "Looks like a woman named Regine has dropped in. See the rest for yourself!"

"Mother…?" Keats breathed, hardly daring to believe it.

But it was true. Standing there at the back of the pub was his mother, Regine.

He walked up to her.

"Mother…is it really you?" he asked.

"Keats?" she exclaimed, alarmed. "What are you doing here?"

"Relax, Mother, I'm not dead!" Keats reassured her. "I'm a Messenger. Or, at least, I'm a Messenger's Guardian…I'm not really sure how it works, but I can come here alive." He sighed. "I've missed you," he confessed softly.

"I've missed you, too," Regine replied. "I was sorry I had to leave you…but it was for the best. How is Suzette?"

"Oh, she's fine," Keats answered, setting aside his newfound doubts about his sister's true personality. "I've been taking care of her."

"Good," Regine said. "I'm so glad to hear that you two have been looking out for each other…" Suddenly, she gasped. "Wait…you said you're a Messenger?" she asked.

Keats nodded. "Yes," he replied.

"Where did you go to get that power?" she exclaimed, apparently panicked.

"Doolin Village," Keats replied, confused by her terror.

"_Doolin_?" she shrieked. "_No_! You can't be there! You have to get out now! You'll be killed!"

"If you're thinking of that woman Ingrid, you don't need to worry," Keats told his mother; "she's dead."

"Dead…?" Regine repeated, breathing hard.

Keats nodded. "She wrote me a letter, claiming to be Father and telling me to come to the Cliff of Sidhe in Doolin Village, but when I got there, she was already dead," he told Regine. "She was murdered; I don't know by whom."

Regine gave an enormous sigh of relief. "Oh, thank heaven," she breathed.

"Mother…may I ask you something?" Keats asked.

"Of course, dear," Regine said.

"I've always wondered…why didn't you go to a hospital when you gave birth to Suzette?" Keats asked. "If you had been in a hospital, you would probably have lived…"

"I couldn't take the risk," Regine said. "I couldn't risk anything that might make it possible for her to find us."

"Is that why we never stayed in one place for more than a week?" asked Keats, thinking of the earliest memories of his childhood that he could recall.

"Yes," Regine said, nodding. "When I realized I was going to die, though…well, I knew you'd be safe, then. I knew she wouldn't be able to find you, not with me gone…"

"Why not?" asked Keats. "And why was she after us? Were we in Doolin Village at one time? What happened?"

Regine sighed. "I wish I had time to tell you," she said remorsefully. "But with what little time I have left, I need to give you a message to pass on to your sister. Tell her that I'm sorry she had to grow up alone, and that I hope she has a happy life."

Then there was a flash, and Regine vanished. In her place was what looked like a large insect, about the size of Keats's head. It had three green eyes, a fleshy pink dome on its back, and it made a weird chirping noise.

"Mother!" Keats exclaimed. "Mother…what happened?"

"Heh heh heh," the deer chuckled. "Surprised? What you thought was your mother was really a Mnemosyne, a Folk that feeds on the memories of the dead. Wretched little rats, but should come in handy. Who else can show you the secrets of the dead?"

"Wh…?" Keats began to ask.

The bulb on the Mnemosyne's back suddenly swelled and grew to be almost as big as Keats. Fascinated, Keats reached out and touched it.

As soon as he did, it burst. There was a flash of light, then a few flickering images and spoken words.

_"…not safe here…"_

_"Take him and go…"_

_"…won't leave you…"_

_"I'll hold her off…"_

_"You must both survive!"_

The vision cleared, and Keats saw his mother and father.

"It's not safe here anymore," Regine said to her husband. "She's too far gone; she's not thinking clearly."

Keats's father nodded. "I agree," he said.

There was a pause for a moment. Then, Keats's father seemed to make up his mind about something, and, putting his hands on Regine's shoulders, he told her, "You have to protect our son. Take him and go - leave this village. Get as far away as you can!"

"What about you?" Regine asked. "I won't leave you behind."

"You have to!" Keats's father insisted. "I'll hold her off while you sneak away. I'll buy you as much time as you need."

"But…" Regine started to cry.

"You must both survive!" Keats's father nearly shouted with urgency. "We have to protect him - we only just got him back! And you need to leave, too, so our daughter can be born. So take him and go!"

There was another flash, and Keats found himself back in the Audience Hall.

_They must have been talking about Ingrid,_ Keats thought. _She was the woman they were so afraid of. And me…why was it so important that _I_ live? And what did Father mean when he said they'd only just gotten me back?_

Perplexed, Keats walked out the door of the pub. On the other side, he found himself on the section of the path through the Faery Realm that came right before the area of the Pouke Festival. Belgae was waiting for him.

"Did you discover anything useful?" he asked Keats.

Keats thought for a second, then decided to have Belgae clarify the only question he could possibly know the answer to.

"So…the dead are…dead," Keats said slowly. "They don't live on, so to speak, in the Netherworld, do they?"

"Precisely," Belgae confirmed. "Because they are dead, they do not think as humans do. Picture them as but embers of memories."

Keats nodded. _That's more believable than an afterlife,_ he admitted to himself.

"If you still seek out the dead," Belgae went on, "another Netherworld Door may open."

"So there really are more realms?" asked Keats.

"As many as there are stars in the sky," Belgae replied. "If you do seek out the dead, another Netherworld Door should open; all you have to do is find another memento of the dead. And so, I bid you adieu, until we next meet."

"Yeah, can't wait," Keats muttered, and he walked over to the portal and used it to return to Doolin Village.

~o~

Keats was surprised to discover that it was almost noon when he returned.

He decided not to talk to the villagers, and instead headed straight to where Suzette was staying. _I hope Ellen's there, too,_ he thought. _Maybe she found out more…_

Ellen wasn't there. Still, Keats told his sister everything.

When he was done, she shook her head. "Do you really expect me to believe any of this?" she asked.

"No," Keats replied. "I just wanted to tell you. Whether or not you choose to believe me is up to you."

"So Mother could have lived…" Suzette said, more to herself than to her brother.

"She was only trying to protect us," Keats said.

Suzette glared up at him. "No, she was trying to protect _you_!" she snapped, tears of anger in her eyes. "She didn't even think about _me_! I had to grow up without a mother, all because of some obscure fear that a woman far away _might_ have been able to track mum down _eventually_!"

"So you do believe me?" Keats asked; it was the only thing he could think to say.

Immediately, Suzette lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "No," she nearly sobbed.

Keats sighed._ I hope Ellen can shed some light on things,_ he thought…


	6. E Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Mirage (Ellen)

Ellen sat down on the couch to rest only briefly - it was morning, after all. She took the time to think about the previous night.

_Ingrid had a daughter, whom she lost because of…Keats? I don't understand…what was Ingrid's story? Who killed her, and why?_

She sighed. _Keats knows something,_ she thought; _he was there, in the Netherworld, last night. But what was he doing there?_

She stood and walked out of the warehouse.

_The only way I'll find out is by asking him…_

~o~

When Ellen got to the hut that Keats was now using, she found it empty.

_He must be talking with his sister,_ Ellen thought. _I know _I_ would, if _I_ had a sibling to share what happened last night with._

She crossed the path and knocked on the door of the previously abandoned house.

Sure enough, it was Keats who opened the door.

"Keats!" she exclaimed. "There you are! I tried to find you in that hut, but you weren't there, so I came here…"

"Come in," he told her, mercifully cutting off her babble.

"Yeah, and tell us if you had the same dream as my brother last night," Ellen heard Suzette call from inside.

"Dream?" Ellen asked as she walked inside and Keats shut the door behind her. "It seemed very real to me…"

"So you _did_ go to the Netherworld last night?" Keats asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Ellen turned to him and nodded. "Yes," she said, "and I saw you there. You were speaking with Ingrid…" She hesitated, then decided she had to ask. "What were you doing there?" she asked him.

Keats blinked. "I…ah…I was brought to the Henge by a spirit named Belgae-"

"You mean a Halflive, like those people in the pub?" Ellen asked.

"I…guess," Keats replied slowly.

Ellen just looked at him silently, waiting for him to continue.

"Belgae brought me beneath the Henge," Keats continued after a moment, "and I saw you donning the Cloak. Then…I was chosen as your Guardian."

"My Guardian?" Ellen asked, surprised. _Scarecrow never said anything about a Guardian…_

Keats nodded. "At least, that's how I interpreted the title. All Belgae said was that when Messengers are chosen, Guardians are also chosen…"

"You almost sound like you suddenly believe in this stuff," Suzette commented.

"Of course I don't!" Keats said quickly…perhaps a bit too quickly. Ellen noticed the way he looked at his sister…

"Of course," Suzette muttered sarcastically, loud enough for Ellen to hear.

"Well, _I_ believe it," Ellen declared, deciding to give Keats some support. "If we both had the same experience, it _must_ have been real."

No one said anything for a minute, but Ellen knew that Keats really did believe, deep down.

"I spoke with Ingrid after you left the Netherworld," she added, and she told Keats and Suzette what she'd learned.

"Her daughter…?" Keats asked when Ellen was done. "She lost her family because of…me? I don't understand…"

"I think I should speak to her again, but I need a memento of hers," Ellen said.

"To offer at the Henge at night, so you can open a door to the Netherworld?" Keats asked.

Ellen's eyes widened with surprise, but she nodded. "Yes," she said; "how did you know?"

"I was given the same instruction," Keats answered.

Ellen thought about that for a second. "Well, I don't think you should be the one to talk to her again," she finally said; "not if she holds a grudge against you, for whatever reason…"

Keats nodded.

"I think we're all forgetting something very important, and a lot more real than all of this," Suzette said abruptly: "A woman was murdered here."

Keats nodded again. "Yes, that's true; and as this is a small, close-knit village, outsiders like us are going to be the prime suspects."

"But we know it _wasn't_ us!" Ellen exclaimed, shocked at Keats's words.

"You were the only other person on the cliff," Suzette commented.

"Suzette!" Keats exclaimed.

"Whatever do you mean?" Ellen exclaimed at the same time; Suzette sounded like she was accusing her!

Suzette shrugged. "My brother and I had only just gotten there when you met us," she said to Ellen matter-of-factly.

"I had only just gotten there when I met you!" Ellen exclaimed, hurt and confused. _Why would she suspect me?_ she wondered frantically. _I didn't even know Ingrid!_

"We know that," Keats said firmly, and Ellen noticed the stern look he shot at Suzette; "but it is true that we will be the most suspected of the murder…and while the villagers have shown surprising hospitality, keep in mind that they probably don't like it when outsiders get involved with their business."

"They took note of our news, and they gave us all places to stay, but they didn't tell us anything," Suzette said, nodding.

Ellen nodded, too. "Yes, I noticed that as well," she said, glad to know she hadn't been imagining it. "They all seemed exceptionally sad about Ingrid being dead, even for a close-knit community. I wanted to ask what her story was…"

"Well, thanks to you, we already know part of that story," Keats pointed out: "She lost her whole family."

"We don't know that," Suzette snapped. "You had a dream, that's all. Let's focus on what's real here."

Ellen stared at Suzette. _Why is she being so cynical about this?_ Ellen wondered. _What grudge could she possibly have against the dead, or the idea of an afterlife?_

Keats turned from his sister to Ellen. "Well, good luck finding a memento of Ingrid's," he said to her. "You should ask around. Maybe someone will be willing to share something."

Ellen nodded in agreement. "I'll do that," she said. "In the meantime, why don't you ask around, too?"

"I think I will," Keats replied.

Ellen nodded again, then left.

_I doubt anyone has a memento of Ingrid's,_ Ellen thought as she stood outside the door for a minute, _so maybe I should go to the beach and see if something of hers washed up on the shore. I should still ask around, though…_

_And what's going on with Suzette? I may not know her, but her brother seemed as shocked by her hostility as me…_

Deciding that that particular matter was best left alone, Ellen started going around the village, talking to the villagers to discover what they were willing to share.

The first person she met was a man who was standing on the path to the Henge.

"I'm O'Connell, a scholar," he introduced himself. "I'm here for research purposes."

"Did you know Ingrid?" asked Ellen.

"I'm afraid not," O'Connell replied. "I only came to this village a short time ago. Are you looking into her death?"

"Yes," Ellen replied, nodding.

O'Connell chuckled. "So, the painter has turned detective, has she?" he asked jokingly.

Ellen laughed good-naturedly and proceeded to the first house she came across. Inside, she met a woman in a wheelchair who introduced herself as Harriet.

"Did you know Ingrid?" asked Ellen.

Harriet nodded sadly. "Yes, I knew her, the poor woman," she replied. "I had always feared that she would jump of the Cliff of Sidhe; many people seeking eternal peace do so, and not just villagers."

"What happened to her?" Ellen asked.

"17 years ago, her daughter died," Harriet answered. "The poor girl…she was only five years old."

There was an awkward pause as Ellen waited for Harriet to elaborate, but apparently, Harriet didn't feel like sharing anything more about the matter.

"I'm sorry," Ellen finally said. "Do you…know if there's some memento of hers? Something she held precious?"

"She always wore a small pendant on a simple chain," Harriet replied. "She was probably wearing it when she died. She had intended to give it to her daughter when she grew up…"

"Thank you," Ellen said, and she left.

The next two places Ellen came across were empty, and one of those was boarded up. Along the path to the lighthouse, she found the house that belonged to the pub owner. Inside, there was a little blond girl.

"Hello," Ellen said to the girl.

"Hello," the girl replied. "My name's Charlotte. My mum and dad got divorced, so now I live with my Uncle, the pub owner."

Ellen smiled and nodded at Charlotte, then left.

She went to the pub; Charlotte obviously couldn't know anything, but perhaps her uncle would.

When Ellen approached the bartender in the pub, he said, "The pub is closed now, during both the day and night."

"Oh, that's okay, I just wanted to ask you if you knew anything about Ingrid," Ellen said, deciding not to mention that the pub was run by Halflives at night.

"Yeah, I knew her," the bartender said; "you know, in passing. She kept to herself mostly. In fact, she rarely stayed in the village for more than a week at time. She couldn't find work here, so she had to work overseas. She still managed to make time for her little girl, though, before the girl died 17 years ago."

"Yes, Harriet told me about that," Ellen said. "Can you tell me anything more?"

The pub owner hesitated. "I'd rather not," he said. "I think it's better to let that poor family rest in peace."

Ellen nodded._ In other words, he doesn't want to talk to outsiders like me,_ she thought. _That's okay; I can just ask her…_

"Do you know if there's some memento of Ingrid?" Ellen asked. "You know, something she held precious? Harriet told me about her pendant…"

"That was probably her most precious possession," the pub owner replied. "She got it from her mother; it was passed down, mother to daughter, for several generations in her family - I don't know how many. She had intended to give it to her daughter-"

"Before she died, yes, I know," Ellen said. "Thank you."

She left.

There was one more house in the village. An elderly woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Lester, was standing outside it.

"My husband, a doctor, used to run a clinic in this village," Mrs Lester told Ellen.

"Used to?" repeated Ellen questioningly.

"He closed it 17 years ago," Mrs. Lester said by way of explanation.

Ellen was already expecting minimal information, so she didn't wait for more this time. "Did you know Ingrid?" she asked instead.

Mrs. Lester nodded sadly. "I did indeed," she replied. "Her daughter was the light of the village, a long time ago. Everyone in the village back then thought of her as their daughter. She was so vibrant, so sweet…Excuse me, I'm sorry, you want to know about Ingrid," Mrs. Lester said quickly. "She had to work overseas, so she wasn't here very often, but she always made time for her little girl. After her daughter died, she was…adrift. All of our hearts were broken, but hers especially."

"What happened to her daughter?" asked Ellen.

Ellen wasn't surprised when Mrs. Lester hesitated, then said, "I'd rather not talk about it. I feel it's best to let sleeping dogs lie."

Ellen nodded. "Is Dr. Lester available to talk to?" she asked.

"He's been rather withdrawn since the incident 17 years ago," Mrs. Lester said. "Please do leave him alone."

Ellen nodded. "Thank you for talking to me," she said, and she left.

_Well, that's everyone, _she thought._ This is a small village…I'd better head down to the beach to see if I can find this pendant I keep hearing about. If I can't find it, I'll ask around again to see if there might be something else…_

~o~

When Ellen got to the beach, it was immediately clear that Ingrid's body hadn't washed up on the shore, and it probably never would. _Still,_ Ellen thought, _I should look around. Maybe her pendant came off in the ocean and washed up here on its own…_

It was a stretch, Ellen knew that, but she really did need to find that pendant. She didn't know if just anything that could be considered a memento would work, or if it was only the thing that meant the most to the dead that would open the Netherworld Door.

She searched the beach for what seemed like hours, and she had just decided to give up when she noticed a glimmer of silver in the sand just above the waterline. In desperation, Ellen ran over to it and pulled the object out of the sand, washing it off in the water.

The object turned out to be a very small and thin silver charm on a cheap chain. _Is this it?_ Ellen wondered. _I hope so…_

She headed back up to the village and went straight to the warehouse she was staying in. She was exhausted, and since she would be going out at night, she knew she would only get some sleep during the daytime.

~o~

Ellen woke up just after nightfall. She got up, feeling the tiny charm in her pocket.

_Maybe I'll talk to the Halflives first,_ she thought. She wouldn't admit it to herself, but the truth was, she did still have some doubts about whether or not what had happened the previous night had been real; if the Halflives were at the pub again tonight, that would be some proof.

Sure enough, the lights in the pub were on, and the door was unlocked, when Ellen got there. The Halflives were there, just as before, except that Damona was absent, and a large, two-headed, gold-colored robot wearing a scarf was sitting at one of the tables that had been empty the previous night.

Fir Darrig noticed Ellen and turned to her. "Nya ha ha!" he laughed. "Ought to be good!"

"What?" asked Ellen.

"Something's going to happen in the Netherworld!" Fir Darrig replied.

_I hope so,_ Ellen thought, and she turned to Jimmy.

"Let me introduce the H-Halflives to…you," Jimmy stuttered. Ellen didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't necessary. "I'm Jimmy," he began. He gestured at Frizzie. "Th-That's Frizzie, the Banshee." He gestured at Ganconer. "That's Ganconer, th-the barman." He gestured to Fir Darrig. "That little m-m-mouse is Fir Darrig." Ellen noticed that Jimmy's stammer was more pronounced when he said the word 'mouse', and she couldn't help but smile at what that implied. "And th-the battling duo are Gam and Gee," Jimmy finished, gesturing to the robot.

_Gam and Gee?_ Ellen thought._ I wonder what they're like…_

She didn't have to do anything more than approach them to find out.

"My name is Gam," the right head said to her.

"No, it is not," the other head said. "My name is Gee."

"No, Gam," argued the right head.

"Do you know about the picture book?" Gee asked Ellen. "It contains bountiful information on the Folks."

Gam made a metallic squeaking sound and said, "Hey, you gave her a tip. I was going to do that!"

Gee made the same metallic squeaking sound and snapped, "Shut your trap, Gam!"

Ellen quickly retreated and turned to Ganconer.

"Once ye know yer way about the Netherworld a bit, I might be askin' ye for help," he told Ellen.

Ellen decided not to ask what sort of help he meant, and walked over to Frizzie, whom she liked the most already.

"Don't look so sad," Frizzie said to her. "Feel free to talk to us any time you like! We have nothing to do, you see, so we need something to enliven us."

Ellen smiled at the joke, nodded her thanks, and left to go to the Henge.

~o~

When Ellen reached the Henge, Scarecrow was there, waiting for her.

"Got yourself a memento, eh?" he asked.

"I hope so," Ellen replied.

"So to the Netherworld again!" Scarecrow said, apparently not doubting that Ellen had the memento. "Just make an offering of it."

"What will happen then?" asked Ellen.

"Listen very carefully and you'll hear a dead person's voice," Scarecrow told her. "It will give you the location of the door to the Netherworld; it will be a place with significance to that person while alive."

Ellen nodded, took the pendant out of her pocket, and placed it on the stone pedestal, which was glowing with strange wisps of purple light.

There was a flash that turned into a red, blue, and purple aura that surrounded Ellen and the pedestal like a dome. Ellen listened hard, remembering Scarecrow's instructions, and heard a distant voice.

_"She was going to go to the lighthouse with him…"_ said the voice._ "If only she had lived one more day…"_

The lights faded away.

_The lighthouse?_ Ellen thought. _Okay, then._

She went to the lighthouse, walking as far as the path would take her until she reached the very edge of the cape.

Suddenly, the lighthouse lit with a blinding light. Ellen gasped, shielding herself from the glare. She sensed something happen - she couldn't tell what - and then the glare died down a bit. When she opened her eyes, the same liquid-light butterfly pattern as she had seen beneath the Henge the previous night was floating in front of her.

_So it was the will of the dead that showed me the way to the Netherworld,_ Ellen thought. Then, without any hesitation, she walked into the glowing butterfly. There was a flash of light, and when it died down, she found herself in the Faery Realm, in the exact same place she had arrived last time. She felt energy pulsate through her, and she looked down at herself. Sure enough, she was once again wearing the Cloak of Sidhe.

Scarecrow was already there, waiting for her.

"Uwee hee," he chuckled; "the Faery Realm again! This time, you opened the door to the Netherworld yourself!"

"What should I do to find Ingrid?" Ellen asked him.

"Defeat the Folklore, the monster deep within the Faery Realm," Scarecrow answered. "When someone dies with a strong emotion, their spirit is pulled into a Folklore. Defeat that Folklore, and the spirits inside should be released."

"Oh, I could never do anything like that!" Ellen exclaimed; she really didn't like the idea of fighting at all, never mind battling a big monster…

"Yes, you could!" Scarecrow reassured her, sounding completely confident. "But first, let's go and see the Faery Lord to get some advice."

Still preoccupied with thoughts of battling a Folklore, Ellen asked, "Is he someone important?"

As soon as she said it, she felt stupid. _Is the Faery Lord someone important?_ she thought to herself, embarrassed. _I can't believe I asked that…_

Scarecrow didn't mock or patronize her.

"Yes, he is!" he replied. "He knows everything. He'll tell us where the Folklore is."

Ellen was still too embarrassed to speak.

"Uwee hee hee," Scarecrow laughed, adding, "I bet he'll give you a really warm welcome!"

Ellen nodded her thanks and started to go on, when suddenly, Scarecrow stopped her.

"Almost forgot," he said. "If you're going to travel the Netherworld, you should take this." And he gave her a piece of paper.

Ellen studied it. There were a bunch of symbols on the page that she couldn't interpret, but most of the page was taken up by an illustration of two Folks. One looked sort of like a Pouke, but different somehow, and it was blowing what looked like huge bubbles. The other Folk was very strange looking, and seemed to be dropping a pot as it was knocked out of the air by the bubbles.

_Interesting,_ Ellen thought, pocketing the piece of paper in the Cloak somehow. _I wonder what it means. I guess I'll find out when I find those Folks…_

She proceeded down the path, just as last time, giving the Faerys she passed quick smiles of acknowledgement as she went. When she reached the spot where she'd first encountered Folks, two Poukes were ready and waiting for her. It took a little effort not to apologize to them every time she struck them, but she fought well all the same. When they were gone, she noticed a path to her right that she hadn't taken last time.

_What's this way?_ she wondered, and she decided to take a look.

What she found was a small clearing, full of floating, glowing crystals in a small variety of colors: white, green, and blue. And, waiting there, she found several small, elf-like creatures that looked like Poukes, but there was something different about them…

Ellen realized that the small differences were that these new Folks wore brown clothes and had green skin just as they raised their staffs to their mouthes and started blowing enormous bubbles.

Right away, Ellen recognized the Folks as the same sort that had been on that piece of paper Scarecrow had given her. _That means I'll need these little guys,_ she thought. _Alright, then._

She hesitated too long, though, and one of the Folks' bubbles flew at her and exploded on contact with surprising force - she was actually knocked to the ground!

Fortunately, the other bubbles missed her as she got to her feet. The burst of the first bubble had left her entire front stinging, as if an enormous rubber band had snapped on her. _I guess that explains how those bubbles could knock a Folk out of the air,_ Ellen thought, and she began fighting.

The new Folks had pretty much the same stamina as Poukes, too, so it was a quick fight._ They're called Henkys,_ she somehow suddenly knew when she was done.

She decided to take a look at the huge half-crystal, half…er, something else, things that floated around in the clearing. They were about as big as she was, and she knew they had to have some sort of purpose. The blue ones were high up in the air, well out of her reach; the white and green ones were at her level.

She tried hitting a white one with Pouke. It shattered, revealing a glowing blue droplet of light. Curious, she reached out her hand and took it. When she did, she felt a ripple of energy wash through the Cloak and, through the Cloak, her body. The stinging sensation left over from the Henky's attack faded, like a burn soothed by cool water.

_Interesting._

She tried hitting the others, but the green one somehow repelled her attacks.

_And the blue ones are too high for me to reach,_ she thought.

Then she thought, _Well, what about Henky? Could those bubbles reach up there?_

By aiming with certain precision, Ellen found that the bubbles could indeed break the blue crystal things up high. One contained three more Henky, one contained a weird nut, and the third contained…

A scrap of paper that fluttered to the ground.

Ellen picked up the piece of paper and looked at it. It depicted a large, beast-like folk with what appeared to be enormous ears, stuck in some sort of slimy goo. Above it was what appeared to be the same Folk that was depicted as being knocked out of the air on the page Scarecrow had given her.

_Huh…I guess this must be the picture book Gee mentioned,_ Ellen thought, _which means these pages depict the weaknesses of these Folks._

_I wonder why the book exists…_

She went back to the main path and moved on.

~o~

A little ways past the large tree where she had spoken to Ingrid the previous night, Ellen found the other Folk from the page Scarecrow had given her. Two of them, in fact. They were relatively small Folks that carried tiny pots that were nearly as big as they were, and they flew high in the air.

_I wonder how much harm one of those little guys could possibly do,_ Ellen thought, and she walked into the clearing, unafraid.

Then one of the little Folks flew over to be right above her, then dumped the contents of its little pot on her.

Ellen found herself in the middle of a huge tumult of green, mucousy goo. It covered her, and was so sticky that it kept her from moving much. Alarmed, she struggled against its hold, and she eventually managed to break free.

No longer feeling so kindly about the little Folks, she summoned Henky and shot a bubble at one of them. The bubble was apparently guided, and it followed the little Folk, popped, and knocked the thing out of the air.

Ellen moved in to hit the downed Folk when she saw that its Id was already out. _I guess it's so small that it doesn't take much,_ she thought, and she absorbed the Id.

_Impet._

She dealt with the other one, too, and then went on.

~o~

When she got to the next clearing, she found herself in a beautiful, fragrant flower garden. It was full of vibrant pinks, oranges, greens, and yellows, and petals blew around on the sweet-smelling breeze. _I wish I had my painting supplies with me,_ Ellen thought wistfully. _This is so beautiful, I don't want to ever forget it…_

Ellen noticed that there were a few Faerys in the garden, so she approached them.

"Netherworld Denizens cannot freely travel between realms," the first one told her. "That is why they use your powers to get to other worlds."

_Other worlds?_ Ellen thought, but she decided not to question it just then.

The next Faery she approached turned to her and smiled. "The Faery Lord has told us to share our knowledge with you," he said.

"Okay," Ellen said, smiling back.

"First of all, the Cloak you're wearing now can transform itself," the Faery said. "Depending on what form your Cloak takes on, you'll obtain various new abilities."

"What kind of abilities?" Ellen asked, curious.

"Immunity or resistance to certain elements," the Faery replied.

"Oh," she said. "How do I change it?"

The Faery winked at her. "That's a secret," he replied. "Just know that you'll need to undergo various trials."

Ellen nodded.

"Now, there's something that isn't a Faery secret, but I think I should still tell you," the Faery went on. "Just the other day, a huge bird attacked me. I was running all around trying to escape…but what a _strange_ bird it was! It couldn't even fly very well." He smiled at her. "I bet you'd know how to handle it," he said.

Ellen nodded again, though on the inside she was horrified at the thought of hurting a bird.

"Anyway, here's a little riddle for you," the Faery continued: "What never breaks no matter how often you strike it, but might if hit by wind or thunder?"

"I don't know," Ellen replied.

"Mystery Stones," the Faery answered. He chuckled. "Try to break it however you can, as you might find something good inside," he told her.

_Mystery Stones?_ Ellen thought. _Are those those half-crystal things I found floating in that clearing? They must be…maybe I need a different Folk to break that green one…_

"Now, lastly, and most importantly: The stronger Folks have their own territories," the Faery told her. "To advance through such areas, the Folks' sanction is needed."

"The Folks' sanction? How do I get it?" asked Ellen.

"By absorbing their Ids," the Faery replied. "If you carry them with you, you will be able to pass."

"Thank you," Ellen said, and she turned to the last Faery in the garden.

"Have you found the dead one you seek yet?" it asked her. "Perhaps you should ask the Faery Lord for advice."

"I intend to," Ellen replied, and she reluctantly left the garden and moved on. She _did_ need to find Ingrid…

~o~

The next clearing Ellen found herself in was blocked on the other side by a glowing green barrier.

_Could this be a territory?_ Ellen wondered as she walked into the clearing. _Is there something-?_

Suddenly, a huge, four-legged bird dropped out of the sky and landed in front of her.

Ellen jumped back. _Is this the ground bird that the Faery back there was talking about?_ she thought, alarmed. _It doesn't even really look like a bird! It looks more like a griffin!_

The bird thing charged at her. Ellen hit it, but it didn't seem to be bothered in the least. It slashed at her with its beak, and the force of the blow knocked her to the ground. She struggled to her feet, feeling the cut deep inside her, and was surprised to see that the Cloak wasn't damaged, nor was there any trace of blood. Of course, she didn't have time to study it for long before the bird thing charged at her again.

The bird Folk was incredibly strong. Ellen lost count of the number of times she hit it, yet it still kept coming. At one point, she hit it head on, and its beak broke off.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry!"

Of course, the bird thing didn't respond, except to spread its massive wings and flap them so that they sent a huge gust of wind at Ellen.

The gale hit Ellen like a hammer, sending her flying backwards. She hurried to stand up, but the blows from its beak, and now its wings, were taking a toll.

Eventually, she managed to knock its Id out. When she grabbed on to it, however, she found that it wasn't going to come out without a fight. She struggled with the Id for nearly a minute before she finally managed to pull it out and absorb it.

_Boobrie._

Ellen took a moment to chuckle to herself at the Folk's name, then walked over to the white Mystery Stone that was nearby and broke it. Inside was another blue droplet. Ellen touched it, and again a pulse of soothing energy washed through the Cloak and, through the Cloak, her body. The burn of the cuts from the Boobrie's beak was alleviated slightly, and she felt less battered and bruised than before.

_Whatever that stuff is, it heals wounds left by Folks,_ Ellen thought. _I'll need to keep that in mind in the future, I'm sure…_

She passed the place where the barrier had been, went over a small hill, and saw two Folks wandering among the tall stones that stood here and there in the clearing like trees. The Folks were very dark green…and they had what appeared to be enormous ears.

Ellen immediately recognized them as the Folks on the page she had found._ Their weakness is Impet,_ she thought, and she ran into the clearing.

The two Folks turned to her, reared up on their hind legs, and appeared to charge up some sort of powder that was forming in clouds around their huge ears. Ellen stood face to face with one, summoned Impet, and as the Folk blew the powder right into her face…

Ellen opened her eyes and found herself hunched over. She shook herself slightly, blinked the sleep from her eyes, and straightened up, looking around.

The Folks were gone.

Wait a minute…

The sleep from her eyes?

_Was I asleep?_ Ellen thought, startled. _Is that what that powder does? Put people to sleep? Huh…_

_Well, I guess I'm lucky they didn't attack me while I was asleep…How long was I asleep? I need to keep going!_

She turned to her left and hurried down the path.

~o~

Ellen came across more Folks, naturally. Poukes and Killmoulis seemed to be everywhere; there were Poukes in the white Mystery Stones she found.

She also came across another green Mystery Stone. She decided to try using Boobrie, as it was the only new Folk she had absorbed that had an actual attack since she'd seen the last green Mystery Stone. The Boobrie Id she summoned blasted a huge gust of wind forward with its wings…and the stone broke.

There was nothing inside, but Ellen didn't care; she knew how to break green Mystery Stones now._ Maybe I should go back and break that other one I found,_ she thought. _Then again, I need to talk to Ingrid…_

She decided to go on.

She soon came upon a tall, black-furred Folk that stood on two legs and had long, thin arms. It was a bit cute, in a strange way. Still, it was a Folk, and as such, it tried to kill her.

It attacked by making all its fur stand on end in huge spikes. The spikes were surprisingly strong, and they threw Ellen to the ground, puncturing her in several places in the process. Again, when she stood, she was surprised to see that neither the Cloak nor her body seemed to be in any way damaged, even though she could still feel the pain as though real metal spikes had been driven through her.

She fought the Folk, using whatever she could. After a minute, the Folk suddenly fell over and turned into a glowing purple aura that quickly faded away.

_What?_ Ellen thought, alarmed. _But its Id never came out!_

A Mystery Stone had appeared in the middle of the clearing. Ellen broke it, still confused, and found another scrap of paper. On it, she recognized the sleep powder Folk she had missed and the Folk she had just…killed? Destroyed? Whatever it was she had done. On the page, the sleep powder Folk was blowing its powder at the other Folk.

_So I wasn't supposed to attack it, I was only supposed to put it to sleep,_ Ellen thought. _I wish I'd known that…but I didn't manage to get one of those sleep Folks!_

With a sigh, Ellen pocketed the page and turned to go on, only to find that the path was a dead end.

_Okay, well, I guess I'll go back, then,_ Ellen thought. _Maybe this time I'll catch one of those things._

~o~

When Ellen reached the clearing with the sleep Folks, she was careful to avoid getting blasted by the powder. Still, the Impet she summoned was too slow to dump its goo on the Folk she tried to catch, and the two Folks ran away. They were incredibly fast.

_I guess that explains why I need to trap them,_ Ellen thought. Giving up on the idea of catching one for now, she found the other path and went on.

She was met by a bunch of Poukes and Henkys on a hill. She fought them, discovering that Poukes and Henkys were hard to handle in large groups. When she reached the top of the hill, she found two Impets. She knocked them down, absorbed them, and continued on, feeling very battered and injured, though her wounds still didn't manifest physically.

The next clearing she came to was in a thicker, darker part of the woods. The sun (or whatever the source of light was in the Netherworld) didn't reach the ground in this area, so it almost felt like nighttime in the magical forest.

A Faery approached her.

"Do you know about quests?" it asked Ellen.

"No," she replied.

"They're favors people ask you to do," it told her. "Ask around at the pub. You ought to be up to performing a quest by now."

_Is that what Ganconer meant when he said he'd be asking me for help?_ Ellen thought. "Thank you," she told the Faery.

Suddenly, she noticed a large, brightly glowing flower.

She slowly walked over to it. The petals furled and unfurled, the outer and inner sections moving at separate times. The light blue glow reminded her of the light droplets that had healed her before. It was a little over half her height, and Ellen was sure that she could hear a soft, soothing ringing noise coming from it.

Fascinated, she reached out and touched it.

As soon as the glove of her Cloak touched the flower, the same soothing energy as the light droplets had induced flowed through the Cloak, only much stronger. Ellen felt all her injuries heal instantly. She remembered how a Faery had told her the previous night that if she got hurt, touching a portal would heal her wounds. At the same time as she remembered that, she felt a connection through the flower to the real world and to the spot in the Faery Realm where she had first arrived.

_I could go back there now, and break that green Mystery Stone,_ Ellen realized. _Then, I can just come back here the same way._

She decided to try it. She thought of the little pond next to which she had arrived in the Faery Realm, trying to figure out how to express her desire to go there. It was enough; the Cloak captured her wish and sent it into the portal. The next thing Ellen knew, there was a flash of light, and she was back where she had started.

Quickly, she hurried back to the spot where the first green Mystery Stone had been, not even bothering to fight the two Poukes on the way there. The Henkys were back in the clearing with the Mystery Stones, but Ellen dispatched of them quickly. Then, she aimed at the green Mystery Stone and summoned Boobrie.

Just as before, the gust of wind broke the green Mystery Stone. Inside was…

_What is that? It looks like some sort of aura…_

Curious, Ellen walked over to it and picked it up. It absorbed into the Cloak, and Ellen felt it spread throughout the Cloak's entirety.

_What _is_ this?_ she wondered. _I can't seem to use it…_

She went back. When she touched the portal, she felt the connection to the darker part of the forest, and she was about to use it when she felt the aura she had absorbed react oddly with the portal.

Curious, Ellen allowed the energy to continue to flow. It flowed into the portal, then back into the Cloak, and Ellen felt the Cloak's shape shift and change. When the sensation ceased, Ellen looked down, and she saw that the Cloak had transformed into a pretty pink dress with long sleeves, pinkish-brown boots and leggings, and fake fairy wings that hung down on her back. Though she couldn't see it, the ties that held her hair in the Cloak's fashion had changed to big pink flowers, so that she almost looked like she was wearing a crown.

_"The Cloak you're wearing now can transform itself…"_

_So this is how it works,_ Ellen thought. _I wonder what this form of the Cloak does…_

_Resists Bond and Sleep._

The answer came to her instinctively.

_Resists Sleep?_ she thought. _Does that mean I can catch those sleep Folks now? I'll try it!_

She used the portal to return to the deep woods.

~o~

Before going back to try to catch the big-eared Folks again, Ellen took a little time to speak to the Faerys that were there.

"Please don't think of us as a dream or an illusion," one Faery told her. "The more people think like that, the closer we come to disappearing into the Oblivion!"

"I don't!" Ellen assured the Faery.

She approached the next Faery.

"'Netherworld' is the name the living use for worlds other than their own," it told her. "We Faerys have taken to that name, and use 'Netherworld' too. It's really 'Land of the Dead', though."

Ellen nodded, then went back to try to catch one of the sleep Folks.

~o~

As it turned out, the Cloak's new form didn't help her much; she still had to try to avoid the powder, and the Impet still took too long to dump the slime. It took several tries before she realized that when the Folks fled, they always took the path that was furthest away from her.

_What if, instead of trying to use the Impet while they're getting ready to blast the powder at me, I summon Impet when I first see them, then run to the opposite side of the clearing while they're using the sleep powder so that when they run away, they go right under it?_ she thought. Frustrated and desperate, she decided to try it.

It worked.

Naturally, the slime alone didn't force the Folk's Id out; Ellen still had to hit it, which she did. It broke free from the slime and almost got away, but Ellen managed to knock its Id out before it could do so. At last, she absorbed it.

_Cait Sidhe._

_Now I can catch that big black Folk,_ Ellen thought. _Then again, I've wasted enough time…maybe I'll come across another one later._

She turned back around and went on.

~o~

Ellen took a side path when she finally got back to the deep woods. The path led her out of the thick forest, and there, she found two Folks that were a dark green color that gradually gave way to an orange-ish color at the extremities, including the head. They were four-legged creatures, muscular and beast-like, with two long extensions coming off the sides of their heads that curled into spirals to frame their faces. The clearing was also full of white Mystery Stones.

The Folks weren't terribly strong, but they were stronger than most of the Folks she knew. The spirals on the sides of their faces uncurled to lash out at her like thick whips. Ellen fought and absorbed them.

_Daru._

She checked the memory stones, many of which were empty, and continued on.

Deeper into the forest, she found another one of those big black Folks. She used the Cait Sidhe on it, but just as the real ones did, the one she summoned took a long time before blowing the sleep powder at the Folk. Sometimes, the Folk managed to knock it down with its spikes or a swipe of its hands. Furthermore, it took several blasts of the sleep powder to knock its Id out. She finally managed it, though.

Then, of course, the Id struggled, just as the Boobrie's had. It didn't take quite as long, though, and finally, Ellen absorbed the Id.

_Bug-a-Boo._

_Finally,_ she thought.

A little past the Bug-a-Boo, Ellen found a Folk that looked a bit like a panther, except it was orange, had what appeared to be scales, and bore what looked like a scythe growing out of the top of its head. It was fast and powerful, and the scythe cut deep into her. She fought it, though, and won. Its Id struggled a tiny bit, but not much.

_Ogma._

Near where the Ogma had been was a Mystery Stone that contained yet another scrap of paper. This one depicted an Ogma chasing what looked like an enormous Bug-a-Boo with big, hairy arms and horns.

Past the Ogma was another Bug-a-Boo and what looked like Impets, but when Ellen knocked the Impet-like things out of the air with Henky and absorbed their Id, she found they were in fact Browneys. She wasn't quite sure what the difference was, but she fought the Bug-a-Boo and went on. She found more Daru up a hill, and she fought them, too. She was actually getting used to fighting, and she wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

~o~

The next clearing Ellen came to was a territory, and this time, the Folk was already there and waiting for her. It looked like a really, _really_ big Bug-a-Boo with horns, thick and powerful arms and hands, and a belly covered in orange fur.

_Right,_ Ellen thought, recognizing the Folk right away from the page she had most recently found. _I need to use Ogma against this thing._

As it turned out, the 'thing' was incredibly powerful. It stuck its fur on end sometimes, just like the Bug-a-Boo, only the spikes were twice as long, and it had to take a little time to charge up. More than half the time, though, the monster attacked with swipes and bashes of its enormous, clawed hands. Sometimes it even charged with its full body. It wasn't long in the battle before Ellen was surprised she didn't have broken bones - she certainly _felt_ beaten-up enough to have broken bones. Eventually, she learned how to dodge the monster's attacks and when it was safe to approach it and slash it with Ogma, but by the time the battle was done, Ellen was barely able to stay on her feet.

Naturally, the monster's Id put up a tremendous fight. Ellen had to struggle with it for a couple of minutes before she finally yanked it out.

_Bargest._

Panting heavily, Ellen moved on.

~o~

Even before she saw it, Ellen recognized the soothing echo of a ring that signified the presence of a portal. She hurried over to it and touched it, and all her injuries vanished…even though her injuries still didn't manifest physically. She was wondering about that when she suddenly heard Scarecrow's voice.

"Ellen!" he exclaimed.

She looked up at him. "Yes?" she asked; he sounded concerned.

"Something's not right," he told her. "There's a rumor going around amongst the Faerys. They say that some other human besides you has entered the Faery Realm."

"Another human?" Ellen asked. "You mean Keats?"

"I hope not," Scarecrow replied. "I'd hate for it to be a friend of yours…anyway, let's hurry up and go see the Faery Lord before anything strange happens! We have to find out where that Folklore is!"

_'Before anything strange happens'?_ Ellen thought but didn't say as she crossed a short bridge. _What about this whole experience _hasn't_ been__ strange?_

Across the bridge was a Faery.

"The Faery Realm is no longer the pleasure world it once was long ago," he told Ellen gravely.

"Why not?" asked Ellen.

"If you want to know what's happening, find the Faery Lord and ask him," the Faery replied.

"I'll do that," Ellen said, and she hurried down the path.

She crossed another short bridge, ran up some stairs that made the sound of children's laughter when she stepped on them, and went through a door in the huge tree the stairs led to.

~o~

Ellen found herself in the entryway before an enormous room. A Faery stood close by, and she turned to him.

"What would you like to ask?" the Faery asked Ellen.

"Can you tell me about the Folklore?" Ellen asked. "Scarecrow told me I had to defeat it to meet the dead…"

"Because the Folklore has appeared, the Faery Realm Audience Hall no longer functions properly," the Faery explained. "The Folklore's powerful mystical force has affected it. If you manage to defeat the Folklore, however, the Audience Hall should return to normal."

"Thank you," said Ellen. "Also, a Faery mentioned something about Oblivion…?"

"Until recently, people remembered the Land of the Faerys," the Faery told Ellen. "Now, it's all but gone from people's memories. See for yourself; Oblivion has already encroached on the area ahead. You see, the Netherworld is being eroded away by Oblivion. For now, the Faery Realm has mostly managed to escape harm, but it will probably soon be severely affected."

"What will happen when Oblivion takes over?" asked Ellen, worried.

"You'll see," the Faery replied gravely. "You'll eventually make your way into the Netherworld that's been eroded by Oblivion."

Ellen nodded.

"Oh, and one more thing," the Faery said: "There's a knight called Bogle close to the Faery Lord. He's the Faery Realm's most elite."

Ellen said nothing.

"Just so you'll know him if you see him," the Faery added.

"Thank you," Ellen said again, and she walked into the main room. Two Faerys flanked a raised dais.

Nervous about meeting the Faery Lord, Ellen addressed the two Faerys first.

"Do you know why the Cloak gives the power to absorb Ids?" the one to the left asked her.

"No," she replied.

"Because it was used for transporting spirits," the Faery answered.

"Oh," Ellen said, unsure what else to say, and she walked over to the other Faery.

"The Faery Lord and all Denizens of the Faery Realm have long awaited you," it told Ellen. "You are the Messenger of the Cloak. With your Folk mastery, you'll take the Netherworld by storm!"

_Folk mastery? Take by storm? I don't want that!_ Ellen thought, but she approached the dais. Atop it stood the Faery Lord.

He was big for a Faery, about as tall as she was. His skin was the color of human flesh instead of being gray, and his hair, though whitening with age, was clearly blond. He had a large nose that complimented his face, and a very long, thin mustache that hung down well past his chin and curled slightly at the ends. He was wearing flowing robes of yellow and green, and he held a tall staff with a large, glowing, pink stone at the end.

"Your Majesty," Ellen greeted him.

"Ah!" he said in reply, his voice rough and raspy with age. "Heiress of the Cloak. How long we have waited your arrival!"

"Why?" asked Ellen. "I only wanted to help whoever called me."

"It is us who need your help," the Faery Lord told her.

"But…the man who called said that Faerys were going to kill him…" Ellen said, confused.

"I assure you we would do no such thing," the Faery Lord told her. "Please, if you wish to help someone, help us. It will benefit your world, as well."

Ellen hesitated, then nodded.

The Faery Lord sighed. "Humans are weak," he said gravely, somehow in such a way that Ellen wasn't offended. "They purge memories of pain and suffering…but, where do you think such memories end up?"

"I'm not sure," Ellen replied. "The Netherworld?"

"Precisely," the Faery Lord stated; "and the worst of their fears and sorrows amalgamate into the most powerful types of Folks - the great Folklores, that stand in our way."

"I have to fight?" Ellen asked, dreading the answer she already knew.

"It will be possible with the help of the powers of the Folks," the Faery Lord told her in a tone that suggested he was trying to be reassuring, and Ellen knew he had mistaken her hesitance for fear. "Trust in the Cloak, and fight with us."

Before Ellen could reply, the ground started to rumble and shake.

"Eek!" she squealed.

"Hmgh?" the Faery Lord huffed.

A Faery ran into the room, and Ellen knew from the gold helmet he wore that he must be Bogle.

"Your Lordship!" Bogle called. "The Folklore Cernunnos has materialized!"

The Faery Lord turned to Ellen. "The time has come," he said to her. "Go forth, young Ellen. Defeat the Folklore and help us save the Netherworld. May you prevail!" And he gave her two pages from the picture book.

Ellen glanced at them. On one, the top illustration depicted a Bargest being sucked into something like a giant venus flytrap; the bottom illustration depicted an Ogma cutting a vine into pieces. On the other page, a Boobrie was depicted blowing a gale at an enormous flower.

Ellen turned and left the Hall of the Faery Lord, went back down to the path, and met Scarecrow again.

"Uwee hee hee!" he laughed. "Come on, Ellen! Hurry! The Folklore is up ahead!"

Ellen hesitated.

"Are you ready?" asked Scarecrow. "Remember what the Faerys told you about how to defeat it!"

_They didn't _tell_ me anything of the sort!_ Ellen wanted to say, but she hurried past Scarecrow and down the path. Just a short distance away from Scarecrow stood another Faery. Ellen approached it.

"What would you like to know?" he asked her.

"I would like to know about Cernunnos," Ellen replied.

"Ah, Cernunnos," the Faery said, nodding. "The enormous Folklore known as Cernunnos is just beyond here. Defeating it will not be easy. It's heavily armored, and its tentacles are lightning swift. Just chop off those tentacles and it might be manageable, but no one's had the nerve to do it. It spews flames and poison…" The Faery shook his head. "If only we could stuff something big in there…!" he said wistfully.

_Bargest,_ Ellen thought. _Somehow, I have to stuff Bargest up there…_

"Also ahead is the place where the Rite of the Killmoulis is often performed," the Faery went on. "15 Killmoulis leap about and pray, making offerings of treasure. Go and have a look."

"I will," Ellen said, nodding.

The Faery then gave her a tip about how to increase the power of her Folks.

"I just want to meet Ingrid," Ellen said when the Faery was done, not liking the idea of needing more powerful Folks.

"If you seek the memories of the dead, touch the Mnemosyne," the Faery told her.

"What's the Mnemosyne?" Ellen asked.

"The Mnemosyne is a Folk that devours the memories of the dead," the Faery replied. "It looks a little like an insect would in your world."

"Thank you," Ellen said to the Faery, and she went on.

As the Faery had predicted, Ellen found a large group of Killmoulis dancing in a circle around a Mystery Stone just ahead.

_No matter how weak the Folk, in large groups, they can be quite a handful,_ Ellen reminded herself, thinking of the group of Poukes and Henkys.

She charged into the group. Sure enough, 15 Killmoulis turned out to be quite a handful; she was badly injured by the time she finished them off. Not wanting to have to fight the group of Killmoulis again, she broke the white Mystery Stones that floated around the clearing instead of going back to the portal to be healed. Fortunately, the Mystery Stones contained the blue droplets that healed her. One of the ones she found was at least twice as big as the normal ones, and was at least twice as strong.

Inside the Mystery Stone that the Killmoulis had been dancing around, Ellen found a large, cut, purple gemstone.

_It's so pretty,_ she thought. _I wonder why there would be a gemstone in the Netherworld…_

Setting the thought aside, she pocketed the gemstone and went on…to battle the Folklore, Cernunnos.

~o~

Ellen found herself in what appeared to be a swamp of black sludge. A second later, the sludge bubbled, and out of it rose an enormous creature that vaguely resembled a turtle. Its head and neck dripped with black sludge, and it had teeth.

_My god!_ Ellen thought, alarmed at the sight of the huge monster. _I'm supposed to fight _that_?_

Of course, she had no choice. As Cernunnos attacked her, she dodged around it, waiting for an opportunity to shove Bargest inside one of its two huge tentacles. Sometimes roots came up out of the sludge and struck Ellen, and she knew it was Cernunnos's doing. Along with that, the tentacles did indeed spew poison, which she was careful to avoid, and they were indeed lightning swift in striking her.

Suddenly, one of the tentacles reared back, opened, and started sucking her in.

Without thinking about it, Ellen summoned Bargest. Sure enough, the tentacle sucked up the Bargest Id. The Bargest went about a third of the way down the length of the tentacle before it got stuck, sticking out its fur so that black spikes protruded from a huge bulge.

Cernunnos roared, and the tentacle flopped to the ground, where it flailed about uselessly. Ellen ran up to it and summoned Ogma. It took a few slashes before the tentacle was sliced off. The severed limb flailed about in the swamp sludge for a second, then disintegrated.

_One down, one to go,_ Ellen thought.

She dodged Cernunnos's attacks once more, waiting for the other tentacle to try the same trick. It wasn't long before it did. Once again, Ellen summoned Bargest, which the tentacle sucked up. Again, the tentacle was rendered useless, and again, Ellen slashed at it with Ogma until it came off.

The now-useless stubs of tentacles that were still attached to Cernunnos withdrew into its body, and Cernunnos gave a mighty roar. Then, its neck seemed unable to hold its head up any longer, and its head fell down and disappeared into the sludge of the swamp. The sludge on the back of its neck seemed to melt, creating a means to get to Cernunnos's back. Ellen ran up its neck. She had just reached its back when what turned out to be a giant bud on its back bloomed into an enormous flower. It wasn't a pretty flower; it looked more fungal than floral.

Ellen recognized the flower from the second page the Faery Lord had given her. _Hit it with Boobrie,_ she thought, and she began doing so.

The huge gales produced by the Boobrie Id shook the huge flower, but Cernunnos's Id still didn't come out. Sometimes, the huge flower would spit out what almost looked like a gigantic golden raspberry; the strange fruit would strike Ellen and knock her completely off of Cernunnos's neck.

Finally, at long last, the Id came out. Ellen grabbed it.

It was strong! Ellen had to struggle with it for a long time; the fight to uproot Cernunnos's Id was a battle in and of itself.

Finally, Cernunnos's Id came out of its body and absorbed into the Cloak. The ground rumbled, and Cernunnos melted back into the sludge of the swamp.

Ellen gasped for breath. The fight with Cernunnos had certainly been a tough one.

Suddenly, she noticed a door appear in the spot where Cernunnos had been. There was no wall, nothing behind it; just a door in a frame floating a little bit above the sludge.

It opened.

Ellen gasped.

On the other side of the door was a swirling orange light; clearly, this door was a portal.

_This door…will it lead me to Ingrid?_ Ellen wondered. She stepped through it.

There was a flash, and when it died down, Ellen found herself in…

…_the village pub_?

"Where am I…?" Ellen wondered out loud.

Suddenly, the stuffed deer head over the fireplace gave a huge yawn and shook its head.

"Nice nap…!" it said to itself.

Ellen gasped.

The deer gasped, too, and looked around for the source of the noise.

Its eyes found her.

"Wow!" he exclaimed to himself. "Now that's a sweetie! Care for some tea, sweetie?" it asked her.

Ellen hesitated.

"I heard I can meet the dead here," she finally said.

"Darn it!" the deer said, disappointed. "I thought you'd come to see me!"

Ellen didn't have any idea what to say.

"This room channels the memories of the dead," the deer finally told her.

"But…this looks like the village pub," Ellen said, confused.

"Yes!" said the deer. "It may look that way to you, but everything here is self-perceived! You must have gone to a pub shortly before coming here…?"

Ellen thought of the Halflives. "In fact, I did," she said.

"Oh?" exclaimed the deer. "Oh! The memory you extracted from the Folklore…will soon manifest as a person! Her name is Ingrid, resident of Doolin. Ready or not! Here come the dead!"

Ellen turned, looking around the pub. She didn't have to look for long; there, right at the back of the pub, stood a woman Ellen recognized as Ingrid.

"Ingrid!" Ellen exclaimed.

"You…" Ingrid said slowly.

"We spoke last night," Ellen said. "I think we can talk for longer this time, though. Um, is this yours?" She held out the pendant.

"Ohh…" Ingrid sighed, looking at the pendant. "That pendant…it was an old family heirloom. I'd meant to give it to my precious Cecelia…"

"Cecelia…was that your daughter's name?" asked Ellen. "The little girl who died 17 years ago?"

"Cecelia…my beloved daughter…That's right!" Ingrid suddenly exclaimed, as if only just remembering. "I'll never forget! She was murdered!"

"What happened to her?" Ellen asked.

Ingrid shuddered. "That day…the lighthouse keeper, Ryan, came to my house…and told me about the awful thing that happened at the church…!"

"What happened at the church?" Ellen asked.

"Oh Lord, have mercy…!" Ingrid cried.

Suddenly, there was a flash, and when it died down, Ingrid was gone. In her place was what looked somewhat like a large insect. It was about the size of Ellen's head, had three green eyes and a fleshy pink bulb on its back, and made a weird chirping noise.

"Oh!" Ellen exclaimed. "Ingrid? What happened?"

"Surprised?" the deer head asked. "The woman you were talking to was really a Mnemosyne, a type of Folk that feeds on memories. A bit gross, but don't be afraid; these things can show you lost memories."

"But how…?" Ellen began to ask.

Suddenly, the Mnemosyne shuddered, and the bulb on its back started to swell.

"What?" Ellen exclaimed, alarmed.

The bulb blew up like a huge balloon, until it was nearly Ellen's size.

"Eek!" she squealed; the thing looked disgusting.

The bulb exploded, and there was a flash that turned into fragments of images and sounds.

_"No!"_

_"Cecelia…!"_

_"He's alive…"_

_"…killed her…"_

_"Ha ha ha…"_

_"Revenge is near!"_

The vision cleared, and Ellen saw Ingrid and a young man standing in what must have been Ingrid's hut.

"What did you say?" Ingrid cried at the man. "Ryan, are you certain?"

"It's the truth," replied the man called Ryan. "That night, at the church!"

"No…" moaned Ingrid. "It can't be! Cecelia…!"

The vision shifted, and Ellen saw Ingrid standing all alone.

"So he's alive," Ingrid said aloud, her voice soft but furious. "He killed her so he could live. It's him! He did it!"

The vision shifted again, and Ellen saw Ingrid writing on a piece of paper. Ellen read what Ingrid wrote.

"My dear son, Keats," it read. "Forgive me for being absent from your life for 17 years. I await you on November 2nd, at Samhain, on the Cliff of Sidhe, Doolin." It was signed, "Your Father."

"Ha ha ha," Ingrid laughed to herself, the sound chilling. "Finally…Revenge is near!"

There was another flash, and when it faded, Ellen found herself back in the Audience Hall.

_So Cecelia was the name of Ingrid's daughter,_ Ellen thought. _17 years ago, Ingrid lost her. What happened at the church 17 years ago? And how does Keats fit into it all?_

Puzzled and pensive, Ellen walked out the door of the Audience Hall. On the other side, she found herself on the section of the path that came just before the area in which the Rite of the Killmoulis was held.

Scarecrow was waiting for her.

"Was that really Ingrid?" Ellen asked him, blurting out the first question that came to her mind.

"Well, it was, and it wasn't, you know?" replied Scarecrow.

Ellen shook her head.

"Ellen, the dead are dead," Scarecrow told her. "It's not like they're _alive_ in the Netherworld or anything. But your memories are what make you, you, aren't they? So if someone else had your memories, they'd be you, you see?" He laughed. "Uwee hee hee. Keep opening doors to the realms, and talk to all kinds of dead people!"

"There are other realms?" Ellen asked.

"Yep, there are, deeper down!" Scarecrow replied. "The Faery Realm is actually quite near the human world; you need to earn the right if you want to go deeper."

"Do you think I can do it?" Ellen asked.

"Don't worry, you already have!" Scarecrow answered. "You defeated the Folklore! Easy, eh? Uwee hee hee!"

_Yeah, easy,_ Ellen thought. _If fighting huge monsters is what you call easy…_

"You should go back to the village for now, though," Scarecrow added.

"Yes," Ellen said, nodding. "I need to talk to Keats about this…"

She walked over to the portal, touched it, and used it to return to Doolin Village.

~o~

It was past noon when Ellen returned to the real world, much to her surprise.

_I want to talk to the villagers again,_ Ellen thought as she walked from the lighthouse cape back to the main part of the village.

The pub owner's home was closest, and she went inside. Just as last time, the pub owner was gone, but Charlotte was there.

"Hello," Ellen said politely to Charlotte.

"Hello," Charlotte replied. "My Uncle heard about you, and he's making up a load of quests. You should go to the pub and talk to him."

"Quests…?" Ellen repeated.

"I suppose even some grown-ups believe they can meet the dead," Charlotte went on. "They won't admit it, though. I don't understand grown-ups…"

Ellen smiled at Charlotte. "It's okay," she told the little girl. "You'll understand when you're older, but you don't have to worry about it yet."

With that, Ellen left.

She went to the pub to speak with Charlotte's uncle, just as Charlotte had suggested she do.

"I've heard things about you," he said when she approached him. "If it's true what people say - that you can talk to the dead - I might have a favor or two to ask of you sometime."

"I'll be happy to help you," Ellen said, and she left.

Mrs. Lester was still standing outside her house.

"It's a lovely village," she said to Ellen. "The scenery and climate are lovely. It's such a shame the village is so deserted now…"

Ellen left Mrs. Lester to her reminiscing and went to Harriet's house.

"Can you tell me anything more about Cecelia?" she asked Harriet.

"Oh…" Harriet shook her head. "The poor girl…she was so full of life, but since her mother was gone so often, she was so lonely - there weren't many children in the village. I remember back when she died, though, she had one good friend…"

Harriet seemed unwilling to say anymore, and, being used to this, Ellen left.

Lastly, she spoke with Mr. O'Connell. She knew he didn't know anything, but she was still curious about why he had come to Doolin at all.

"This village was revered as a sacred ground by the ancients," he told Ellen. "People used to live here, preserving traditions, until it was deserted."

"Is that why you came here?" asked Ellen. "To study those traditions?"

"My reasons for coming are personal," Mr. O'Connell replied slowly. "I'm looking for something, you see…? Still, I wasn't lying when I said it was for research…"

Ellen nodded, if only because she felt like shaking her head would be rude, and she turned to the house Suzette was staying in.

_Time to talk to Keats._


	7. K Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Only One Wish (Keats)

When Keats left Suzette's borrowed home, he almost ran straight into Ellen.

"Oh, Keats, there you are," Ellen said.

"And here you are," Keats said. "I…"

"Did you go back to the Netherworld last night?" asked Ellen.

Keats blinked. "Yes, how did you know?" he asked; he hadn't seen her, so she couldn't have seen him…

"The Faerys were talking," Ellen replied. "Who did you speak to?"

"I spoke to my mother," Keats said, and he told Ellen everything he'd found out from the Audience Hall; he didn't bother telling her about Livane or Cernunnos, figuring that it wasn't worth wasting time on.

"I was hoping that perhaps you could shed some light on things," Keats added after he was finished recounting everything.

Ellen was silent for a moment. "I don't know about your parents, or about what you had to do with any of it, but I _did_ find out some of what happened that made Ingrid want to kill someone," she finally said, and she recounted what she had learned in the Audience Hall to Keats; like him, she left out any details about her experiences in the Faery Realm.

When she mentioned the name Cecelia, however, he stopped her.

"Cecelia?" he asked. "Not…Not the little girl I met?"

"What?" asked Ellen.

Keats told her about the little blond girl he'd met in the Faery Realm.

"Huh…" Ellen said. "I suppose that must have been her."

"Please go on," Keats urged her, now more interested than ever.

Ellen finished recounting her conversation with Ingrid and the memory she'd seen from the Mnemosyne.

"So this whole affair started 17 years ago…Because of something a man called Ryan told Ingrid, she wanted to kill someone," Keats mused out loud when she was done.

Ellen nodded. "Yes," she said. "I wonder if Ryan is still in this village?"

"If he is, I haven't seen him," Keats said. He paused, then added, "I wonder…what _was_ the incident at the church?" _And what happened in my past?_ he added to himself.

"Ingrid didn't tell me, but Ryan would know," Ellen said.

"I suppose the only thing to do is ask around the village," Keats said.

Ellen nodded. "Let's split up," she said; "perhaps we'll get different pieces of the story from the same people if we both approach them individually."

"Seems like a rather low trick to get information from these people," Keats commented, "but I suppose it's necessary."

So they split up. Ellen went off towards the pub, and Keats walked over to Mr. O'Connell. Not that he thought Mr. O'Connell would know anything about Ryan from experience, but as a villager, maybe he'd heard something.

"A lighthouse keeper named Ryan?" Mr. O'Connell repeated when Keats asked about him. "Don't know him. I only arrived here a week ago." He paused, as though contemplating something, then added, "But I have the sense that something's wrong with these villagers…"

"What do you mean?" asked Keats.

"A bloody history unbefitting of a village with so many legends," Mr. O'Connell replied.

"A bloody history?" repeated Keats. "I think…I think I may be part of that history…"

"You think your past is connected to this village - that you might have been involved in something?" Mr. O'Connell asked sharply.

"I'm not sure," Keats replied slowly, and he walked away.

He approached Mrs. Lester next; she was standing outside her house, as she always seemed to do.

"Do you know a lighthouse keeper called Ryan?" Keats asked her.

"The lighthouse keeper Ryan?" Mrs. Lester repeated. "I remember him well." She hesitated. "He was…murdered. In the church graveyard." She hesitated again, then added, "Harriet was quite close to Ryan, I believe."

"Thank you," Keats told her sincerely; it was more information than he'd ever gotten out of any of the villagers before.

_Another murder,_ he thought as he walked to Harriet's house. _I wonder if _that_ happened 17 years ago, as well…_

"I'm asking around about the past," Keats told Harriet when he got to her house. "If you've been here for a while, perhaps you know something?"

"I have been here for a while, yes…" Harriet said slowly.

"Was there…some incident here, 17 years ago?" asked Keats.

Harriet sighed. "Ah, that brings back memories," she said reminiscently. "That was when there used to be a clinic here in the village. I lived in the village then, but only for a short time."

"Do you know a man called Ryan?" Keats asked.

Harriet nodded. "Ryan was the lighthouse keeper," she said. "A very kind man." She sighed heavily. "He died 17 years ago; murdered, in the graveyard, on a desolate night. It was early winter, just like it is now."

"Why was he in the graveyard?" asked Keats, curious.

"Someone asked him to go there," Harriet replied in an odd tone of voice.

Not wanting to push her further, as it was clearly a sensitive subject, Keats asked, "Do any of memento of his?"

"Would it help you to find something out?" Harriet asked in reply.

"In fact, it would," Keats told her.

"Hmm…" Harriet murmured, nodding pensively. "He left behind a photo," she finally said. "It's torn in half, though…"

Harriet pulled out the right half of a torn photo and gave it to Keats.

"If you're interested in Ryan, visit the hut on the cape to the north," Harriet added. "If you find anything out, do let me know, won't you?"

"Of course," Keats assured her, and he stepped outside.

He studied the photograph.

_Is this a clinic…? And a doctor…? Harriet said there was a clinic in the church back then…_ He pocketed it. _Time for a visit to the cape to the north,_ he decided, and he walked up the path that led to the lighthouse keeper's hut.

~o~

No sooner had Keats reached the door to the hut on the lighthouse cape than it opened, and out stepped Ellen.

"Ellen!" he exclaimed. "Why are you here?"

"Same as you," she replied, a bit taken aback.

"Right…sorry…" Keats mumbled. He took a breath, then said, "So, you've searched this place already, have you?"

"Yes," Ellen replied, nodding.

"Are there any clues?" he asked.

"Only half a photo," she replied.

Keats blinked in surprise. "I have the other half!" he exclaimed.

He took out his half of the photo; Ellen took out hers. Sure enough, they matched. The picture was of a doctor standing beside a bed. In the bed was a little blond girl with an IV apparently attached to her.

"What could it mean?" Ellen wondered out loud.

"A doctor and his patient?" Keats asked aloud at the same time.

He studied the child in the picture. "Is this Cecelia?" he wondered out loud.

"Ingrid's daughter?" Ellen asked.

"Yes," Keats replied. "I think I saw her…Yes, the girl I saw was definitely this one."

"But we still don't know why she and Ryan died," Ellen said.

"And now, Ingrid," Keats added. He shook his head. "Just what is happening here?" he wondered out loud, and he knew the exact same question was on Ellen's mind.

They were silent for a minute.

"Could this photo be Ryan's memento?" Ellen finally asked.

"There's only one way to find out," Keats replied.

She nodded.

"Do you want to take it?" he asked her.

"No, you can use it," she replied. "This really is more your business than mine, anyway."

Keats nodded. "I'll let you know what I find," he told her.

"I'll meet you at the Henge tonight," she said.

With that, they both went back to their separate places to sleep until nightfall.

~o~

When Keats woke up just after dark, he took out the photo pieced together and studied it.

_2 becomes 1,_ he thought. _The lighthouse keeper Ryan's memento…?_

He studied the child in the picture. _That's definitely the girl I saw in the Faery Realm,_ he thought. _I wonder what it means…_

With a sigh, he stood up and walked outside. As always, the lights on in the pub caught his eye.

_I wonder how no one notices…_ he thought.

He recalled Frizzie's premonition the night before. _Maybe I should talk to her again…_

He went to the pub.

~o~

Tonight, it was Jimmy who was absent. All the other Halflives Keats knew were there.

He approached Frizzie.

"The Netherworld was born when humans found intelligence and became conscious of death," she told him. "It has grown since that time, absorbing thoughts on death."

"The last time we spoke, you said another villager was going to die," he prompted her.

She shivered but didn't reply.

Keats sighed. _I don't know what I was expecting,_ he thought. _This isn't _real_, after all._

Still, he approached Ganconer; as the barman, Ganconer probably knew the most.

"Everyone has their troubles," he told Keats. "The Halflives come at night. Humans bring their troubles to the pub during the day, yeah. Often times, the Netherworld is the cause. Please drop in now and again."

Keats nodded. "I will," he said, and he left.

_Now, to the Henge,_ he thought.

~o~

Belgae wasn't there when Keats got to the Henge, nor was Ellen. The stone pedestal was glowing again, though, and Keats walked up to it and placed the photo on it.

Just as last time, there was a flash that turned into a blue and green aura that surrounded him and the pedestal like a dome, and Keats heard a voice that had to be Ryan's.

_"He ran off to the church graveyard. I must find him."_

The light died.

_To the church graveyard, then,_ Keats thought, and he turned and left.

He found Ellen waiting for him just inside the village proper.

"Keats," she acknowledged him.

"So, you've come," he said.

She nodded. She seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then she said, "I have a question: Does this Netherworld mean that the ancient legends were true?"

"The fabrications of ancient man and these illusions are unrelated," Keats stated flatly.

"But it seems quite real to me!" Ellen protested.

"To me as well," Keats admitted, "but the afterworld is no such place."

"How do you know?" Ellen challenged him.

"I just know," he replied. "There are clues, of sorts…" He resumed walking to the church, not wanting to discuss his reasons for not believing.

"May I come with you?" Ellen asked him.

He nodded. "To the church graveyard," he said; "Ryan's final resting place!"

~o~

Keats and Ellen went around behind the church. There was a gravestone that somehow seemed set apart from the others…

Suddenly, the lighthouse lit up and shone on the gravestone they had been looking at. Unlike last time, though, the door didn't bloom from the light.

Keats and Ellen stood there for a moment, confused. Then, Keats looked down and saw that a black, shadowy fog was forming under their feet.

"What?" he wondered out loud.

"What is this?" Ellen asked.

Suddenly, the ground under them was gone, and they both fell, screaming, into a black, bottomless pit.

Above them, where they had stood, streams of fire swirled around in front of the gravestone, and after they disappeared into the darkness, another liquid light design, different from the one that was the door to the Faery Realm, blossomed from light and flame.

~o~

When Keats opened his eyes, he found himself in a world of yellow dust.

He blinked to clear his vision and looked around. He appeared to be in a wasteland of dust and ruined stone buildings. Not too far off in the distance, he could hear the sounds of battle aircraft and exploding bombs.

"What is this place…?" he wondered out loud.

He noticed Belgae standing in front of him.

"So the Netherworld wasn't the Land of the Faerys?" Keats asked him; he had understood that there were other realms, but he hadn't guessed that there would be such a contrast between them.

"This place is…" Belgae paused. "Well, let us call it Warcadia," he finally said. "The Netherworld was born out of human thoughts on death. A Faery Realm of pleasure is how the ancients imagined the afterworld."

"And so Warcadia must be a contemporary image of death, then," Keats finished. "That makes sense." He paused. "Where is Ryan?" he asked Belgae. "Inside another Folklore?"

"Not necessarily," Belgae replied; "but it's true that the dead who feel powerful emotions - such as rage, hatred, or sorrow - tend to get pulled into Folklores."

"I see," said Keats. "I have more questions, though. You said there are as many realms as there are stars in the sky. Are they all so…different?"

"Indeed," Belgae replied. "The Faery Realm was only the beginning. This Warcadia is quite far removed from the real world; and the further away it is, the more strength necessary to open the door to that world."

"And my strength is limited, is that it?" Keats asked.

Belgae's hat and mask moved to imply a nod. "That's why you need the power of the Folklores," he told Keats. "You defeated Cernunnos in the Faery Realm, and so…"

"You mean that's why I was able to enter Warcadia?" Keats asked. "So, two birds with one stone, eh? I get to talk to the dead _and_ I get access to more realms."

"Precisely," replied Belgae.

Keats nodded. Before he went on, he turned around and looked behind him. Sure enough, there, nestled among the red rock that littered the fringes of Warcadia and looking very odd and out-of-place, was another one of the glowing flowers he had seen in the Faery Realm.

_I guess a portal is a portal, no matter where you go,_ he thought, and he started walking into the war zone.

He didn't get far before he met a small person that didn't look at all like the Faerys of the Faery Realm. This one was yellow-skinned and bald, though there was a swirling pattern on its scalp. Its eye-sockets were so deep that its head looked skull-like. It was wearing orange and black clothes, and Keats couldn't quite tell, but it also looked a bit taller than the Faerys of the Faery Realm.

"Hello," Keats said to it. "What are you?"

"We are Rebel Denizens," the little yellow person replied.

"Rebel Denizens?" Keats repeated.

The little yellow person nodded. "There are quite a few who don't like the Faery Lord. He behaves like he represents the entire realm!" The Rebel Denizen shook its head in disgust.

"Oh," Keats said, and he went on, approaching another Rebel Denizen.

"I came for you," the Rebel Denizen told Keats. "Let me tell you a few things."

"Okay," Keats said with a nod.

"Ahead you can go right or left; the path to the right is a bit roundabout," said the Rebel Denizen. "You can decide to move on, or just walk around a little; you might find something good. I certainly won't stop you if you want to hurry on, though. Just be careful; there are many difficulties ahead."

Keats nodded in acknowledgement.

"Now, this is a battlefield," the Rebel Denizen went on. "Unlike the Faery Realm, we don't have a meeting room for the dead here. If you want to meet the dead, you'll have to look for them."

_So it's better for me if Ryan _is_ in the Folklore,_ Keats thought. _Naturally._ He didn't complain out loud, though. Instead he said, "You said you came for me…?"

The Rebel Denizen nodded. "Denizens of the Netherworld cannot pass freely between the realms; that's why we follow you two as you go," it told Keats.

"Ah," Keats said, nodding. He listened to the Rebel Denizen give him a tip about how to power up his Folks, then went on.

To his surprise, the next person he came across was a Faery from the Faery Realm. Looking at it, Keats realized that he couldn't tell if the Rebel Denizens' skins really were yellow, because in the light of Warcadia, the gray skin of the Faerys also looked yellow.

"The flow of time in the Netherworld is different from that of the real world," the Faery told Keats. "You could end up passing someone whom you thought left after you, or you could end up behind someone you thought you'd passed."

Keats nodded. _In other words, Ellen could be ahead of me or behind me, even though we both came here at the same time,_ he thought, and he proceeded to the Folk-infested areas of Warcadia.

The place was definitely a war zone. Rubble was everywhere; sometimes Keats wondered if something above him was about to collapse. Dry fountains in stone courtyards were barely recognizable, and what looked like once-majestic stone arches and doorways were crumbling under the stress of the unceasing battle.

The Folks he met were simple enough. They were all roughly the same size, and though they were annoying in groups, on their own they were all about as strong as Poukes. The Folks he met were Hawk, Bullseye, and Barrager; they were all humanoid, and looked like tiny soldiers. Hawk was almost exactly like Pouke; Bullseye was a long-range shooter; and Barrager was a wide-range scattered-bullet shooter.

Keats took the long way around in case there was something worth looking for, but he didn't find anything particularly useful. The little Folks were annoying, and Keats was somewhat injured by the time he got through the roundabout path.

Finally, Keats found himself in what could have been a either stadium or a theatre at one time, but was so rubble-strewn it was hard to tell. No Folks were to be seen, but Keats could make out a shining green barrier just across the round room.

_A territory,_ he thought. _I wonder what kind of strong Folks live here in Warcadia?_

He only had to take a few steps towards the center of the room to find out. With an explosion, a large, thick, vaguely humanoid Folk appeared in the center of the arena. Keats took a couple of steps closer, and with a bunch of smaller explosions, eight Hawks appeared around the edge of the center stage.

_Oh, great,_ thought Keats.

As he had expected, fighting the larger Folk with a swarm of Hawks running around was as frustrating as it was dangerous. Keats tried to get rid of the Hawks first, but their tendency to charge with their bayonets kept them from getting into a manageable group, and often times, while Keats was trying to deal with one or two Hawks, either another Hawk or the more powerful Folk would hit him and make it very difficult to absorb the Hawks' Ids.

Keats barely managed to finish off the last Hawk. The larger Folk was far more powerful, with flamethrowers and cannonballs that could hit Keats at both short and long range.

_I can't take much more of this,_ thought Keats. He could feel himself on the edge of death…or, if the Faery he had spoken to in the Faery Realm was right, worse.

He gritted his teeth together. _I can't lose this,_ he thought determinedly. _I can't leave Suzette…I can't fail…I must find out what happened in my past…!_

Keats's determination grew inside him until he felt like he would burst…and suddenly, he realized it wasn't just in his mind; he could physically feel the strength of his will expanding throughout his entire being. He doubled over in pain, all his muscles clenched, there was a flash of light and a whirl of wind, and power exploded through his body.

Had he bothered to look down at himself, Keats would have noticed that he had transformed, but he didn't. Instead, he charged at the Folk. The fire from the flamethrower blasted him, but he didn't even feel it. He summoned the powers of his Folks, and instead of summoning Ids, he tapped into the very elements his Folks controlled, unleashing them in powerful blasts against the monster he faced. The giant fire Folk didn't even have time to attack again before Keats knocked it to the ground and its Id came out.

Keats grabbed the Id. As he had expected, it struggled, but it was no match for him, and Keats yanked out the Id and absorbed it.

_Volcano._

Exhausted, Keats fell to his knees. There was another flash of light and whirl of wind, and then…everything was still.

_What was that?_ Keats wondered as he tried to catch his breath. _How did I do that?_

He stayed on the ground for a moment, panting. Then, he stood up, turned to the exit, and moved on.

~o~

To Keats's relief, the next area was safe from Folks. As soon as he got there, he was met by Livane.

"Livane!" he said.

Livane nodded her acknowledgement at him. "Quite a number of Faerys have been sent in," she said, looking around, her arms crossed. "Interfering in other realms like this is no small matter."

"Denizens of the Faery Realm?" Keats asked. "Why are they coming here?"

"Immensely powerful being sometimes control Denizens of a Netherworld," Livane told Keats. "The Faery Lord is one of them. Actually, it was he who invited Ellen into the Netherworld."

"Is that scarecrow his emissary?" asked Keats. "What's so special about her?"

"One question at a time," Livane said with a slight smile.

"What's the Faery Lord's goal?" asked Keats.

"The Faery Lord aims to change the Netherworld," Livane replied. "The Faerys don't think the Netherworld is how it should be."

"Surprisingly progressive for a realm created from ancient ideas," Keats commented.

Livane shrugged. "They're simply clinging to an older era, that's all," she said.

"So what's the relationship between Ellen and them?" Keats asked.

"Denizens of the Netherworld cannot pass freely between the realms," Livane explained. "It seems the Faery Lord has cast some type of spell on Ellen…it opened up a path to the Netherworld where Ellen is."

"So Ellen is a Netherworld trailblazer for all Faerys, is she?" Keats said.

Livane nodded. "Enough for now," she said. "Speak to the dead to solve your so-called conundrum."

"I was intending to," Keats told her, and he hurried to the portal that was just a little past Livane.

He sighed with relief when he touched the portal and felt his battered soul heal. _That was close,_ he thought. _I can't rely on…on whatever happened to happen again. I need to be more careful…_

_But what _did_ happen? What _was_ that?_

Setting his confusion aside, Keats approached the nearest Rebel Denizen.

"It's odd that the Faerys are strolling around Warcadia like they owned the place," the Rebel Denizen commented to Keats.

Keats nodded. _This Faery Lord certainly doesn't sound like a very pleasant fellow,_ he thought as he approached the next Rebel Denizen.

The second Rebel Denizen sighed when Keats reached him. "Helping you is not easy," it said. "Anything you'd like to know?"

"I'll hear whatever you have to tell me," Keats replied, a bit embarrassed that the Rebel Denizens felt like they had to make such an effort on his behalf.

"First of all, the Ultimate Shield will only appear before the Ultimate Spear," the Rebel Denizen told him. "Understand?"

"No," Keats replied honestly.

The Rebel Denizen smiled. "You will," it said.

_I hope so,_ Keats thought. "Actually, I was wondering: what are all these Faerys doing here, anyway?" he asked the Rebel Denizen.

"On the Faery Lord's order, Faerys are pouring in, including Bogle the Faery Knight," the Rebel Denizen replied. "Their aim is to protect Ellen. You'll need some luck, Keats."

_Luck with what?_ Keats wondered. _It's not as if the Faerys need to protect Ellen from _me_; I'm her _Guardian_._ "Is there anything else?" he asked.

"You've passed the territory of the Militia; now you're in the territory of the Machine Soldiers," the Rebel Denizen said. "The Machine Soldiers are ridiculously durable. They're extremely hard to handle. Deal with their armor first." The Rebel Denizen added another tip for powering up Keats's Folks, and Keats nodded his thanks and turned to the third Rebel Denizen in the area.

"Some Denizens entered this realm long ago to help clean it up," it told Keats. "Ironically, fighting each other for so long has turned them into Folks. We need to be careful…"

Keats nodded, then went on.

…only to be stopped by a blue Mystery Stone.

None of his Folks could break it; he was completely blocked.

_Maybe, if I go back, I'll find another way around,_ he thought, and he did so.

Back by the portal flower, Keats found a narrow bridge across a chasm. It led in the wrong direction, but he decided that there was a chance it would come back around, so he followed the path.

The area he found himself in wasn't blocked off, and it did indeed circle back around in the right direction. He took a few steps forward, and suddenly, a large hunk of metal dropped from the sky…and stood up.

A Folk.

_Machine Soldier,_ Keats thought, remembering what the Rebel Denizen had told him. The Folk that had appeared was certainly that. It looked like an enormous metal human head with no body and two long javelins for arms._ Deal with its armor first...how am I supposed to do that?_

He didn't have much time; though, strangely, he had a bit more time than he expected. This Folk took a minute to charge up…before charging at Keats like an enormous drill. Startled (though he shouldn't have been, given how much he'd already seen), Keats was a bit too late in dodging it, and the blow of it sent him crashing to the ground.

Ignoring the pain from the blow, Keats forced himself back up and struck out with Pouke…

…which did absolutely nothing.

The blow just glanced off the thing, and Keats could sense that the Folk hadn't been damaged at all.

Alarmed, Keats started fighting by trying out several different Folks; he hadn't found a single picture book page for handling any of the Warcadia Folks, so he was just shooting in the dark. Luckily, after a few tries, he found that Bargest worked, so, even though Bargest was somewhat slow and cumbersome to work with, he eventually managed to beat the Machine Soldier's Id out and absorb it. Fortunately, it didn't struggle.

_Ga-Dearg._

Spotting some Mystery Stones on top of a hill, Keats fought his way through what was almost a barrage of Ga-Deargs and, to his surprise, little Militia soldiers. He was almost desperate for a picture book page, and any Mystery Stone was his only hope at getting information he could use; he didn't want to have to keep shooting in the dark, as he had with the first Ga-Dearg. Fighting using Bargest was slow going, and dangerous at that, but he really did need a page…

And, to his relief, he found one in one of the Mystery Stones on the hill! He looked at it.

_What?_

It appeared to be a depiction of a Hawk, a Bullseye, and a Barrager, one of which was being hit with a fireball, apparently from nowhere.

_How is this supposed to help me?_ Keats thought, partly furious, partly frantic. _What does it even _mean_?_

_…Oh well._

He pocketed the useless page and went on.

~o~

The next space Keats found himself in was full of Militia soldiers again.

_This can't be right,_ he barely had time to think before they swarmed on him. Seconds later, he was surprised to see another Volcano, but he didn't have time to question it.

He fought. He got rid of the little ones first, then fought the Volcano. When he beat the Id out of it, it surprisingly didn't resist being absorbed.

Then Keats realized why.

_Brummbear._

_That wasn't a Volcano after all,_ he thought. _Huh._

There were some more little Militia soldiers across a narrow bridge - a fair number, actually, but nothing serious. Up a hill was an empty clearing that was a dead end…but when Keats turned to go back, three Machine Soldiers dropped out of the sky.

They weren't Ga-Deargs. They had appendages that ended in two halves of an enormous shield that looked like a face; when they put the two halves together, nothing Keats attacked them with from the front could touch them. They were always vulnerable from the back, though, and while they charged after shielding themselves for a little while, the pause they took to charge was more than enough time for Keats to run around behind them and use Bargest. Their Ids didn't struggle once they were beaten out.

_Patriot._

When all three were gone, a Mystery Stone appeared; when Keats broke it, a new page was revealed.

Keats looked at it.

The picture looked like either Brummbear or Volcano attacking…something. Another Machine Soldier, that much was clear; it looked like a tank with a head.

_Finally, something useful,_ Keats thought, and he went back, then down another path, and into a territory.

The Folk was clearly the one depicted on the page Keats had just found. It was enormous - several times Keats's size - and it was very much an automated tank. It had eight, spider-like legs and a huge metal head, there was a cannon on its back, it had machine guns on its sides, and it could move both forwards and backwards equally well, and with the force of a battering ram at that.

Keats took a guess at using Brummbear, and luckily, it was the right choice. Still, the enormous Folk took a lot of wearing down, and Keats was very much beaten up by the time the huge Folk's Id came out. Of course, the Id struggled, and pretty hard at that, but finally, Keats absorbed it.

_Gargantua._

Keats took a moment to try, in vain, to catch his breath, then climbed up the slight hill and went on.

~o~

The hill quickly became steeper, until suddenly, it was actually a steep stone staircase - although, the steps were made with Netherworld Denizens in mind, so the steps were very small.

Not much further on, Keats was met once more by Livane.

He nodded a greeting at her, which she returned.

"The Folklore fortress is right in front of you," she told him. She looked around, and a note of disgust crept into her voice as she added, "Foolish Faerys…They're en route to the fortress with Ellen now." She shook her head. "Their little army is all flesh and no substance. They'll never defeat the Folklore," she spat.

"What about Ellen?" Keats asked. "Why don't they just let her battle the Folklore on her own? I'm sure she could handle it."

Livane looked at Keats silently for a moment before speaking, and when she did, she didn't answer his question.

"Ellen's Cloak _has_ given her the power to battle the Folklore," she said slowly. "Her Cloak has also given you power. So, like it or not, there's a bond between you and Ellen. You're likely to meet up with her here in the Netherworld."

Keats was silent, waiting for Livane to say something more. When she didn't, he rolled his eyes and continued on.

There were three Faerys ahead of him on the steps, which led up to a thick metal door. Keats saw a portal flower by the door, and was relieved. Still, he took the time to speak with the Faerys.

"So you're the famous Keats?" the first one asked him. "I hardly think someone like you could defeat Ellen."

_Defeat?_ Keats thought, bewildered. _I'm her _Guardian_! I'm not going to try to _defeat_ her!_ He didn't say this, however, and walked up to the next Faery.

"I wonder why Livane contacted you," it said. "Livane has other supporters, but she never lets anyone accompany her except Belgae."

Keats made a mental note of this but said nothing, walking up to the last Faery in the area.

"What would you like to know?" asked the third Faery.

"What do you have to tell me?" Keats asked in reply.

"First of all, ahead is a hotly-contested zone," the Faery told him. "It is crammed with Folks. Watch out for yourself."

"Thank you," Keats said, with about as much sincerity as he thought the Faery felt.

"Now, the Warcadia Folklore, Dreadnought, is a terrifying weapon of destruction," the Faery went on. "It burns up plenty of fuel, but carries a lot as well, so it just keeps on going and going. Set it on fire and that'd be it, I bet, but apparently its armor is really thick."

Keats nodded. "I'm here to meet the dead," he told the Faery; "that's my main goal, at least. If the person I'm looking for isn't in the Folklore…?"

"The spirits of the dead become hidden when the Folklore appears," the Faery told him. "Defeat the Folklore and you could meet the dead one you seek."

"Hmm…" Keats said, thinking. _Sounds like I'll have to battle the Folklore to meet Ryan one way or the other._

Both Keats and the Faery were silent for a moment. Then the Faery added, "Even Netherworld Denizens have their troubles. That's why they ask for help from Messengers, who travel the Netherworld freely."

Keats blinked. _What sorts of troubles could a Netherworld Denizen have?_ he wondered, but he didn't ask. Instead, he touched the portal flower to heal his injuries, braced himself, and went through the gate.

~o~

The space ahead was a stretch of battle-ravaged earth in front of the fortress in which the Folklore waited. For a moment, there were no visible Folks in the area, but Keats knew better than to be fooled. Sure enough, as soon as he took two steps into the area, Folks started appearing out of nowhere.

And there were a lot. Machine Soldiers and Militia alike, working together to defeat him. The area was divided into two sections by a trench and a few red Mystery Stones; Keats decided to defeat all the Folks on one side before breaking through to the other, which turned out to be a wise choice, as both sides were, as the Faery had warned him, crammed with Folks.

By the time he was done fighting, Keats was badly wounded; fortunately, one of the Mystery Stones by the entrance contained a large blue light droplet, and Keats was mostly restored by it.

Another one of the Mystery Stones held two pages that depicted how to battle Dreadnought. The first page showed Volcano using its flamethrower on what Keats guessed must be the Folklore's fuel tank, followed by Brummbear blasting at huge, claw-like legs. The second page showed Hawk attacking the Folklore - though Keats had no idea how that would work - followed by Ga-Dearg attacking the monster's mouth.

He looked up at the fortress.

_Right,_ he thought; _no point in wasting time._

He went in.

~o~

Keats barely had time to look around the fortress - which was really more like an arena - before the structure just opposite the door caught his eye. It looked like a skull with demon horns; this had barely gone through Keats's mind when a platform inside it was raised, carrying with it the Warcadia Folklore, Dreadnought.

It was huge, mechanical, and otherwise not really comparable to anything known to mankind. It had four legs with only one joint each at about the knee, a rocket gun came out of its belly, and its mouth was a flamethrower. There were force fields around its legs and the fuel tank on its rear end, and it seemed to enjoy throwing its weight around by smashing the ground with two of its legs to create shockwaves or leaping into the sky to crash down on top of Keats.

It took several minutes of working hard simply to not get crushed before Keats noticed that Dreadnought always paused after crashing to the ground, and that the force field around the fuel tank disappeared when this happened. He had to dodge and run in several times, but using Volcano, he eventually managed to overheat the fuel tank, which burst open.

Dreadnought roared, and the force fields around its legs vanished; to save energy, Keats guessed.

Keats continued running around, trying not to get shot or blasted, and using Brummbear against Dreadnought's legs when he could get a clear shot. After a few hits, the metal armor on one of the legs was blasted off, exposing the leg beneath; it was visibly charged with electricity, but, based on the pages he had found, Keats guessed that it was more vulnerable than the armored legs.

_That explains how Hawk could be any use here, I suppose,_ he barely had time to think.

He decided to take out the armor on the rest of the legs before attacking the exposed parts, which was no easy task. Still, it was worth the effort; when all the armor had been blasted off, Dreadnought gave a mighty roar, then collapsed to the ground, its mouth hanging open.

Keats remembered the image on the second page about the Folklore, ran up to Dreadnought's head, and attacked the glowing orb in its mouth - which Keats guessed to be like a power core - with Ga-Dearg. He felt that the attacks were effective, but after a few hits, Dreadnought roared again, then suddenly spewed a wall of fire from its mouth. Keats hadn't expected this, and had no time to run out of the way before the force of the flames knocked him to the ground.

He was already badly injured, and the blast of fire was almost more than Keats could take. Still, Keats managed to force himself to his feet.

_I must be almost there,_ he thought, almost desperately. _Just a little more…_

He used Hawk to attack the exposed legs, as the picture book directed. He underestimated the strength of the electrical charge on the legs, though, and after a few strikes, he came a little too close and found himself paralyzed by electricity.

Luckily, he was paralyzed at the same time Dreadnought collapsed again, so while the opportunity to attack was lost, he managed to fight off the paralyzing charge just in time to get out of the way of Dreadnought's flamethrower.

_I need to be more careful…but I also need to keep fighting,_ he thought. _The picture book prescribed Hawk for this part of the battle, so I just need to not get so close…_

He kept fighting. He tried to be careful, but he did get paralyzed a couple more times. He was especially careful to avoid getting hit by the fire, so he didn't get more than a few hits to Dreadnought's mouth when it fell. It was a long struggle, and Keats barely managed to hang on, but finally, Dreadnought fell for the last time, and its Id came out.

Like Cernunnos, Dreadnought's Id put up a terrific fight, but Keats finally absorbed it. Dreadnought gave one final roar, then self-destructed.

_This makes two,_ Keats thought to himself wearily. He looked around but didn't see Ryan anywhere, so he went back.

~o~

Keats took a moment to heal himself at the portal flower when he got to it. Only after that did he notice Belgae and Livane standing by the door. Livane was looking around unhappily.

"Faery losses are mounting," Belgae said. "They should have left it to Ellen."

_That's what I said,_ Keats thought. He noticed Livane's expression. "You look glum," he commented.

She shook her head. "Such a waste," she said; "fighting a battle that cannot be won."

"A bit sympathetic of the enemy, are we?" Keats asked cynically, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

He was unsuccessful. "Just like ancient man as I know him," Livane muttered, more to herself than to Keats or Belgae, as though Keats hadn't spoken.

"And how would you know?" Keats asked, surprised.

She looked at him then. "I know," she said; "as I know the ancient Netherworld."

Keats shook his head. "I don't know who the hell you _are_," he said.

"If you want to know, then work with me," Livane said.

"But the scale of this is beyond me," Keats began to protest.

"Perhaps we can stop the grandiosity," Livane said before Keats could add anything more. She turned away from the gate and gestured at a figure standing on the steps. "Is that not who you seek?" she asked.

Keats looked at the man. He was somewhat short and wearing a thick, blue winter coat and a hat with flaps that covered his ears.

"Is that Ryan?" Keats wondered out loud.

He approached the man and asked him.

"Are you Ryan?" he asked.

"Yes," Ryan replied slowly. "…Who are you?"

"I came here to ask you something," Keats said quickly, remembering he only had so much time: "What happened at the church 17 years ago? And why were you killed?"

"I see…" Ryan said. He sighed. "On the night of Samhain 17 years ago, I was behind the church with Harriet. We saw Cecelia and Dr. Lester inside."

"When that photo was taken?" Keats asked.

Ryan nodded. "That's right," he said. "Harriet took it. Something odd was going on…At that time, Dr. Lester had a clinic inside the church. If you really want to find out about the incident at the church, ask him."

"Ask Dr. Lester…?" Keats repeated; Dr. Lester had been unavailable to speak with since Keats had arrived in Doolin Village.

Ryan nodded again. "That's right," he said. He hesitated, then added, "If Harriet's still in the village, please tell her something: Tell her it's all my fault. Tell her to forget intangible things, and try to be happy. If she doesn't believe you, take her behind the church at night. 17 years ago, I asked Harriet there because there was something I wanted to show her. If you show it to her, she'll believe you."

"All right," Keats said, "but you still haven't answered an important question: Why were you killed?"

"Oh…" Ryan said, "that…17 years ago, I made a terrible mistake…Erg!" he grunted.

"Hmm? No! Wait!" Keats exclaimed.

There was a flash of light, and when it died down, Ryan was gone, and in his place stood a Mnemosyne. Keats didn't have time to curse his luck before the bulb on the Mnemosyne's back started to swell. Resignedly, Keats reached out and touched the bulb, which burst on contact.

Again, there was a flash of light that turned into fragments of scenes and sounds.

_"Harriet…"_

_"What are you trying to do?"_

_"Now, please, let go."_

_"No, I cannot"_

_"!"_

The vision settled, and Keats saw Harriet and Ryan facing each other in Harriet's house.

"You're mistaken!" Ryan exclaimed at her. "Dr. Lester has a heart of gold!"

The vision flickered, and Keats got the slight impression of the sound of something ripping. When the memory settled again, Ryan was lying by the wall in a position that implied he'd been flung against it.

"Oh, no!" Harriet exclaimed.

"I'm sorry…" Ryan said. "Your precious photo…"

"Don't worry," Harriet said. "It was my fault, as well."

The vision flickered again.

"Ryan, I have an idea for you," Harriet said. "Children have always liked you, yes?" Another flicker. "I want you to get the truth out of him."

"You want me to ask him?" Ryan asked.

Again, the vision flickered; really, the whole thing felt fragmented to Keats.

"Yes…I will," Ryan said. "If it'll convince you. I don't know what you're after, but I don't want you to dishonor yourself."

"Thank you," said Harriet. "But be careful; he may have a Faery guardian…"

There was another flash, and when it faded, Keats found himself back in Warcadia.

He thought for a moment.

_It feels as though I only got _pieces_ of a memory that time,_ he thought. _How can that be…?_

Suddenly, it occurred to him.

_Ellen came here to meet Ryan, too, and we both came for the same memory. Maybe she has the missing pieces…_

He sighed. Then, he walked back to the portal flower, activated it, and went home.

~o~

It was midday when Keats found himself back in the church graveyard. He didn't see Ellen anywhere, and decided to go directly to Harriet's house.

"Well, you're back!" Harriet said when he walked in. "Did you meet the dead…?" She sounded a bit sarcastic, and Keats immediately knew that giving her Ryan's message right away would be pointless.

"Ryan said he wants you to go back to the place you agreed to meet him 17 years ago," he said instead.

"What?" Harriet exclaimed, alarmed. "How do you…?"

"17 years ago, you saw Dr. Lester and Cecelia in the church," Keats went on. "Something odd was going on, so you took that photo?"

Harriet paled, but said nothing.

"Please come with me to the same place again today," Keats said firmly. "That's what Ryan wants you to do."

"How could you possibly know a thing like that?" Harriet asked breathlessly.

"Ryan said that he did something wrong, that he did it for you, and it got him killed," Keats continued, determined to use everything he had learned to get through to her. "The least you can do is grant him his request now."

Harriet shook her head. "Do you really expect me to believe this madness…?" she asked, sounding in shock but still in denial.

Keats sighed and turned to go; he had nothing else to use on her. He had his hand on the doorknob when Harriet exclaimed, "Wait…!"

He turned back to look at her.

"I…suppose I do want to know…why Ryan wanted me to go to the church that day," she said slowly. "Please take me to the church."

"Okay, I will," Keats said. Then, he remembered the rest of Ryan's instruction, and added, "at night. He said it had to be at night."

"Very well," Harriet said. "Please return at sunset."

Keats blinked, then nodded. "Okay," he said, and he left.

~o~

Just outside Harriet's house, Keats ran into Ellen.

"Keats!" she exclaimed. "There you are!"

He nodded. "Did you speak to Ryan?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Did you?" she asked.

He nodded again. "The memory I got from the Mnemosyne felt fragmented, though," he said.

"I thought the same thing," Ellen said, and they shared the memories they had seen.

Based on Ellen's input, Keats took the full memory to look something like this:

_"You're wrong!" exclaimed Ryan. "Dr. Lester has a heart of gold!"_

_"Then how do you explain this photo?" Harriet asked coolly._

_"B…But…" Ryan spluttered, and he reached out and grabbed the photo in Harriet's hand._

_"What are you trying to do?" Harriet asked._

_"Let go!" Ryan shouted._

_"No, I cannot!" Harriet cried._

_The photo ripped in two, and the backlash sent Ryan crashing against the wall._

_Harriet gasped. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed._

_"I'm sorry," Ryan said. "Your precious photo…"_

_"Don't worry," Harriet said; "it was my fault, as well…It's all right, Ryan…"_

_There was silence between them for a minute._

_"Ryan, I have an idea for you," Harriet finally said: "Children have always liked you, yes? In that case, could you find out what the boy knows? I want you to get the truth out of him."_

_"Me?" Ryan asked. "You want me to ask him?"_

_There was another pause._

_"Yes…I shall," Ryan finally said. "If it will convince you. I don't know what you're after, but I don't want you to dishonor yourself."_

_"Thank you," Harriet said; "but be careful. He may have a Faery guardian…"_

_The memory shifted, showing Ryan crouched down in front of a young boy whose face could not be seen._

_"Please, I really need to know," Ryan said to the boy. "We're pals, aren't we?"_

_The memory shifted again, Ryan exclaimed, "Hrg!", and he was dead._

"I wonder who that boy was," Keats commented.

"Yes, me too," Ellen agreed.

They stood in silence for a minute. Then Ellen said, "Well, Harriet's expecting me-"

"Oh, yes, of course," Keats said, stepping aside. "Go right ahead."

Ellen smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, and she passed him and went inside, leaving Keats to ponder the newly reconstructed memory, and what it might mean, until sunset…

~o~

When sunset came, Keats went to Harriet's house and wheeled her to the church graveyard. As they waited for the sun to finish setting, Keats spoke.

"What happened here?" he asked Harriet.

"He asked me here 17 years ago," she replied. "On the night of Samhain."

There was silence for a minute as the sun finished setting. When night had completely fallen, a bunch of white flowers bloomed from their buds; they almost seemed to glow in the moonlight.

"Flowers blooming at night?" Keats wondered out loud. "Is this what Ryan wanted to show you?"

Harriet sighed wistfully, and Keats knew she had come to the same conclusion.

"Keats," she said softly, "may I ask…Did he despise me?"

"No, he did not," Keats said, and he told her what Ryan had told him to tell her.

She sighed again. "Even after death, he still cares about me," she said reminiscently. "To stop groping in the dark, and focus on the joys of living."

"Would you meet Ryan, if you could?" Keats asked out of pure curiosity.

She sighed again. "Yes…I would," she replied. She shook her head. "My obsession with myth ruined his life."

Taking this as a sign that she might be willing to talk, Keats asked again, "What happened that night at the church?"

Harriet was silent for a moment. "In time, I will speak," she finally replied. "The church…was Dr. Lester's clinic, at the time. Go and see him. He is sure to show a reaction."

She was unwilling to say anything more.


End file.
